


Something Just Like This

by kiwikero



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Good versus Evil, Happy Ending, Journalist Harry, London, M/M, Mpreg, Newspapers, Superhero Louis, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 16:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11384142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/pseuds/kiwikero
Summary: Newspaper intern Harry Styles can't believe his luck when he goes from fetching coffee for his boss to writing about London's own superheroes, One Direction. Even better, he gets to spend time with the unfairly handsome Freefall, also known as Louis Tomlinson. Louis, who is way out of Harry's league and far too busy for a proper relationship—so how on earth is Harry supposed to tell him they're expecting?





	Something Just Like This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curlyfries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlyfries/gifts).



> This was a lot of fun for me to write!
> 
> I have to thank my lovely beta, Sarah, for golden touches as well as introducing me to the title song. Thank you KK for Britpicking and also laughing at me for 45 seconds straight. Love you too. <3 I also need to give a shout-out to Claire for telling me the most obnoxious Starbucks order she could think of!
> 
> The title comes from "Something Just Like This" by the Chainsmokers and Coldplay.

_Where d'you wanna go?_  
_How much you wanna risk?_  
_I'm not looking for somebody_  
_With some superhuman gifts._  
_Some superhero,_  
_Some fairytale bliss._  
_Just something I can turn to._  
_Somebody I can kiss._  
_I want something just like this._

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

It was Friday, and Harry Styles was having a good day.

He made it to work just before the rain started, he found a £5 note on the ground outside his flat, and he didn’t mess up a single of his colleagues’ coffee orders.

Harry had been interning at the _Morning Star_ for about a month, and so far that meant fetching coffees and answering phone calls. Once or twice he’d been assigned to write up notices or announcements, but he was itching to get his hands dirty with a real story. Still, you had to start somewhere, and Harry was grateful to have landed the internship at all.

“Styles!” Harry’s boss, Nick, called from his office out into the newsroom. The flurry of activity stopped for a beat as all eyes in the room fell to Harry, sparing a moment to wonder if he was about to be berated or praised, then resumed as if nothing had happened.

Harry swallowed, his throat feeling thick as if his coffee had solidified on the way down. He pushed his chair away from his desk, trying to make as little noise as possible, and slinked into the editor-in-chief’s office.

Being called to see Nick Grimshaw meant one of two things: You had done something well and he was going to tell you that in the most backhanded way possible, or you had seriously fucked up. Harry wasn’t a betting man, but if he were then his money would be on the latter.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Harry asked, stepping over the threshold to stand in front of Nick’s imposing desk. The editor was sitting behind it, his quiff wilting from having fingers run through it one too many times.

Nick swiveled his chair to face the door, glancing up at Harry before gesturing at the empty seat in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Styles. Henry, is it?” Nick asked, arching an eyebrow.

Harry sat, knees together and hands tucked nervously between them. “Harry, sir,” he corrected. He didn’t blame Nick for not knowing his name—this was the most they’d spoken since Nick’s order of a ‘triple tall, extra dry, half breve/half almond milk cappuccino with a third of a Splenda packet and ristretto shots’ on Harry’s first day. The editor-in-chief was a busy man, and though he’d never been unkind to Harry, he didn’t go out of his way to be cordial either.

“Harry, then,” Nick said, his lips moving in a way that could almost be mistaken for a smile. “You’ve been here, what, two weeks now?”

“A month last Monday, actually,” Harry replied.

Nick blinked, squinting at the calendar on his desk before shrugging and returning his eagle-eyed gaze to Harry. “You’re enjoying it so far? You want to stay on?”

Harry sat up straighter in his seat. “Yes, sir. This is exactly what I want to be doing, sir.” He sounded like a kiss arse, but couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Not if his job was on the line, anyway.

Nick gave him a skeptical look. “Really. You want to be getting coffee every morning? Or do you want to be a journalist?”

Harry felt his cheeks redden as he ducked his head. He didn’t much enjoy feeling like he was being laughed at, and right now he felt like the butt of the office joke. “I am a journalist, sir,” he said, lifting his head and looking Nick right in the eye. If he was going down, he was going to do it with a bit of dignity.

Instead of the expected backlash, Nick merely reclined in his chair, the leather creaking as he regarded Harry curiously. “Good,” he barked eventually before sliding a manila folder across the desk. “This is your first assignment. Have it on my desk first thing Monday morning.” He leaned forward, both arms resting on the polished mahogany of the desk. “Don’t screw this up, and I’ll give you something with a bit of meat to it next time.”

“Yes, sir!” Harry chirped, taking the folder and cringing at the excited squeak in his voice. Nick waved him away and Harry fled back to the safety of his desk, heart pounding in excitement and relief. This was it. This could be his big break. He was finally going to be a real reporter, and his very first published story was going to be about…

Harry paused, looking down at the brief before him in disbelief.

His first article in the _Morning Star_ was going to be about a cat who kept getting trapped in trees.

He sighed, closing the folder and stuffing it into his messenger bag. It may not be the kind of thing he’d been imagining, but it was still a chance for him to prove himself, and Harry was going to write the best damn cat article that London had ever seen.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Things were not going as well as Harry had hoped.

He’d finished up a few things at the office, eaten his lunch, and headed out to the address Nick had given him to start working on his story. The rain had cleared, leaving the ground muddy and trees dripping, but the sun was trying to poke out through the clouds. The address wasn’t far so he decided to walk, and it didn’t take long for him to find the house with the fire engine parked outside.

The cat in question, Bootsie, was a fluffy black and white thing with long whiskers and green eyes. She was perched in the branches of a large beech tree, watching in feline amusement as a firefighter set a ladder against the trunk of the tree.

“She likes the firemen,” Bootsie’s owner, a woman in her sixties named Mrs Mooney, confessed to Harry with a twinkle in her eye. “She’ll only let the fit ones rescue her. Bit of a hussy, that one.”

Harry just stared at the woman in disbelief. “You’re telling me that your cat purposefully gets herself stuck up trees because she has a thing for the firefighters?”

“Won’t let anyone else save her, will she?” Mrs Mooney replied, clicking her tongue. “She wants a man’s touch, and she fancies a young man in uniform.” The way her voice changed gave Harry the impression that perhaps Bootsie wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the rescues. He jotted down a few notes, wondering if one could train a cat to climb trees and if Mrs Mooney was truly the mastermind behind all this.

The firefighter was just climbing back down the ladder, Bootsie cradled in one arm, when the radio in the fire engine crackled to life. “All units to the Goldcorp Bank building. Repeat, all units to Goldcorp Bank.”

Harry barely had time to react before the firefighter was down the ladder, placing Bootsie in her owner’s arms and climbing back into the truck with the others. “Wait!” Harry called, waving his notebook in the air. “I was supposed to get an interview!”

“Sorry,” one of the firefighters shouted back. “Another day, kid!” And just like that the fire engine sped off, sirens blaring.

Harry kicked at the damp ground in frustration. This story was supposed to be his chance to prove himself, and he didn't have enough material to turn in. He knew that if he couldn’t manage something this simple then Nick would never give him a real story to cover, and he’d be stuck pushing paper around his desk for the rest of his career. That wasn’t going to happen. He set off after the truck at a run; Goldcorp Bank was a few blocks away, and maybe he could get that interview once the commotion died down.

“Wait!” Mrs Mooney called after him, affronted. “You haven’t had a chance to speak with Bootsie yet!”

“Next time!” Harry yelled back, turning the corner and following the ever growing noise of emergency vehicles. An ambulance streaked past him, driver laying on the horn, and Harry began to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t turn around after all, go wait at the fire station and get his interview later.

But then a small voice within him piped up over the wail of the sirens and the pounding of his own heart. _You could be the first reporter on the scene,_ it whispered, and just like that Harry was running as fast as he could into the unknown. Each step sent a jolt of adrenaline racing through his body, and by the time he reached the bank his heart felt like it was trying to tear itself free from his chest.

There was a crowd on the pavement outside the building, holding one another or shouting into their mobiles in panicked voices. Harry could see paramedics wrapping people in emergency blankets and police officers urging rubberneckers to get away from the building. Undeterred, he wedged himself into the crowd, stopping next to a man in a rumpled suit. “What’s going on?” Harry asked, panting to catch his breath.

The man glanced at Harry through dirty glasses before turning his attention back to the bank. “Little Mix is here. They’re robbing the bank. Said they’d blow the whole block if we didn’t give them what they wanted.” There was a tremble to the man’s voice, residual fear at nearly losing his life.

Harry gaped at the bank. He’d heard of Little Mix—a group of four women targeting banks all across England—but they’d always seemed like a bit of a tall tale. It was the kind of thing that happened in other cities, but not here. “And they’re just going to get away with it?” Harry demanded, suddenly outraged. He hadn’t lived in London long, only since starting uni, but he felt very protective of it. This was his city, and these people were his community. How dare someone take from them like this?

“I’m not going to stop them,” the man replied incredulously. “I’ve got kids at home. This bank is not worth my life.” With that, the man turned and pushed his way through the crowd, presumably to go home to his family and administer a few extra hugs.

Harry turned back to the bank with grim determination. The business itself might not be worth a life, but if Little Mix blew up the building… Well, needless to say someone was going to get hurt. A lot of someones.

“There has to be something we can do,” Harry muttered under his breath, watching as another wave of terrified employees and patrons fled from inside the bank. A woman appeared at the doorway, laughing uproariously and flinging what looked like rings of light out into the crowd. One of the golden bands caught a man in the back as he was running away and he jolted like he’d been shocked before crumpling to the ground. The woman just sneered at the body before raising her arms high to strike again.

“That’s enough!” a voice called from overhead, and the next thing Harry knew a man was seemingly falling from the sky. He landed in front of the woman with enough force to shake the ground, dressed in some sort of form fitting blue and silver suit. He crossed his arms and stared the woman down. “Leave now, Halo, and no one will get hurt.”

The woman, Halo, rolled her kohl-lined eyes. “Yeah? And who’s gonna make us, love?”

She’d no sooner spoken than three more men emerged from the crowd, each dressed like the first but in different hues. They stood around him like a wall, impending and impenetrable, and Harry could see Halo take a cautious step back.

“Girls,” she called inside the bank. “We’ve got a bit of company!” With that, she flung one more ring of light at the newcomers before retreating into the building.

“I’m on it,” one of the men shouted, this one in a green and yellow suit. He snatched the ring from the air with his bare hands, spinning it like a lasso above his head before sending it right back into the bank. There was a crash and a shriek from inside, and then all four men were following in its path.

“Thank God,” a woman a few metres away said to the man behind her. “If One Direction’s here, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Another woman scoffed. “That bunch of weirdos in unitards?” She shook her head. “I don’t know who they think they are.”

“You weren’t so quick to judge them when they stopped that madman from blowing up your husband’s shop, Linda,” the man chastised, and Linda snapped her mouth shut and turned her attention back to the bank. There wasn’t much to see, only brief flashes of light through the windows, but nobody seemed able to look away.

Least of all Harry, whose mind was already busy composing a gripping account of the action. _Bank Robbers Thwarted By Local Heroes_ , the headline would read _._ He could just imagine himself sliding the story across Nick’s desk, especially since he didn’t see anyone else from his paper there. It was too soon; he just happened to be nearby, and there didn’t seem to be any media present at all.

Harry Styles was about to get his first scoop. But to do it, he had to get a lot closer.

He extracted himself from the crowd, slipping down the street and around the back of the building. The police had it surrounded really well, but surely there was another way— _there_. A small alley on the back side of the bank, just big enough to accommodate the fire escape clinging to the brick wall. Harry tucked his notepad into his back pocket, rolled up his sleeves, and started climbing.

The window Harry reached first was locked, but he was able to get the second one open enough to crawl inside. It led into a storage room of some sort, full of spare desks and chairs, and didn’t look like it had been touched in ages, judging by the thick layer of dust over everything. Harry could hear the pandemonium below, the shattering glass and splintering wood that spoke of a fight, and he carefully crept over to the door to let himself out into the hall.

The first thing Harry noticed was the smoke filling the building. The second was that a large section of the stairs was missing, which would make it more difficult for Harry to get any closer, but hopefully would also prevent the villains from getting closer to him. The third, as he looked down over the balcony to the main floor below, was the huge, black and white tiger prowling back and forth. He covered his mouth to keep from making any noise, but the explosion that followed would have covered it anyway.

The man in blue was hovering in the air, flinging desks and tables and potted plants at a blonde woman in a long-sleeved bodysuit. She cried out in pain as a table crashed into her, but shook it off and sent back a shock wave of some sort that knocked the floating man out of the air. The tiger snarled and launched itself at the blonde, but one of the rings of light from earlier caught it around the neck before it could make contact. It turned into a fine mist that seemed to return to a man wearing a red and gold suit.

“Shit!” the man cried, grasping his arm where the mist had settled. “Rajah is down.”

“I can’t believe you named it Rajah, Remix! Are you planning to go by Aladdin now?” a man wearing grey and black shouted over the noise. His hand appeared to be made of metal, spinning at the wrist like a fan at the cloud of smoke that seemed to be attacking him.

“I had to call it something!” the man in red, Remix, shot back. He pulled out a notepad and a pen, as if to jot something down, but a piercing scream filled the room and had all of them covering their ears.

The force of the sound brought Harry to his knees, his palms flying to protect his ears. It was the worst sound he’d ever heard in his life. It felt like at any moment his eardrums might burst and his head might go right along with them. He let out an involuntary whimper at the pain in his skull.

“Oi!” a voice called from right next to him, though Harry barely managed to hear it through the cacophony. He wrenched his eyes open and watched in wonder as the cloud of smoke the man in red had been fighting shifted into a woman. She cocked her hip, emphasising the spectacular curves sheathed by her tight black bodysuit, and glared down at Harry with long-lashed green eyes. “There’s a live one up here, ladies!”

The shrieking stopped. “Take care of it, Mist!” a female voice called from the floor, then the wailing resumed loud enough to rattle the windows that hadn’t yet been broken.

Mist sneered down at Harry, taking a step closer. He fell to his arse and scooted away, feeling the railing of the balcony at his back. To his right were the smoking remains of the stairs, and Mist was approaching him from the other side. There was nowhere left for him to go.

Harry closed his eyes and covered his head, the sound of the screeching and his own blood pumping too loud for him to focus, to think. He huddled in on himself, waiting for the blow to come, but instead felt himself being pushed by hands that barely felt solid at all. He felt the world give way underneath him, and then he was falling, falling, tumbling down the ruined stairs to land in a heap on the cold floor below.

It took a minute for Harry to realise he survived the fall. First his hearing returned, a ringing that morphed into the sounds of battle. Then the pain set in, every muscle in his body on fire and a sharp ache radiating up his left ankle. Finally, after what felt like ages, he pried his eyes open. He could hear footsteps drawing near, surely Mist or one of the others was coming to deal the final blow, and Harry had to look at the world one last time before he was abruptly taken out of it.

Except it wasn’t Mist. It was the man in blue, walking away from the battle and kneeling next to Harry. A mask covered most of his face, but Harry could still see worried blue eyes peering through it. “I’m going to get you out of here,” the man murmured, and Harry nodded dumbly before letting his eyes fall closed. He felt his aching body being lifted, and then he felt nothing at all.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Harry didn’t think there was a single part of his body that didn’t hurt. The pain overwhelmed his senses, obscuring his thoughts so that it took a moment for him to notice that he’d woken up somewhere strange. He was wrapped in a blanket on a brown leather sofa. He stretched gingerly, surprised to find that his left ankle had been bandaged. There was a cut on his hand that had been seen to as well, and it felt like there were several other injuries that had no doubt been similarly treated. He sat up carefully, ignoring the ache in his head to get a better look at his surroundings. The room was dark around him, the only light creeping in from an adjoining room. Voices spilled in as well: low, angry whispers that were just soft enough that Harry couldn’t make them out.

He extracted himself from the blanket and eased his feet onto the floor, testing his ankle before trying to stand. It hurt, but not so bad that he couldn’t walk. Harry limped over to the door to try and figure out who had taken him and where.

“This is a huge mistake, Tommo,” someone hissed. “This is a total breach of protocol. If he says anything—”

“Can’t exactly say much when he’s out cold, can he?” a voice replied. It sounded familiar, and it took some time for Harry’s brain to catch up with his ears.

A bank. Smoke that turned into a woman. A man in blue carrying him to safety.

That was who the second voice belonged to, Harry was sure of it, but the gentle tone he had used with Harry was gone, replaced by annoyance.

“Lay off him, Payno,” another voice chimed in, this one with an Irish accent. “What was he supposed to do, leave the bloke there?”

“He could have taken him somewhere besides our _secret headquarters,”_ the first man, Payno, countered.

They continued bickering, voices overlapping to the point that Harry could only pick out individual words.

His mind reeled as he tried to put together all the pieces. Right, so he had been rescued by superheroes and taken to their top-secret hideout, and now they were arguing about it. Totally fine. He took a deep breath, but the added oxygen did nothing to make his situation seem any less bizarre.

“Guys!” a fourth voice spoke up. It sounded a lot like the man with the tiger. “Shut up for a bloody minute. We need to figure out what we’re going to do with him.”

And, oh, that didn’t sound good. Surely they wouldn’t have rescued him just to kill him, would they? Maybe they had some kind of memory wiping tool, like the flashy thing in _Men in Black_. Maybe they would just hold him captive in a dungeon somewhere inside their lair and Harry would never get to give Nick his exclusive firsthand account of the Goldcorp Bank robbery.

That was not going to happen. Harry had to get out of there, and fast—er, as fast as he could with an injured ankle. He stuck his head into the corridor, checked both ways, and shuffled as quickly as he could manage in the opposite direction of the voices.

“Just where do you think you’re off to?” The firm voice of Payno stopped Harry in his tracks.

He wheeled around so quickly he lost balance, falling hard to the floor of the hallway and flinging his hands up in front of his face. “I haven’t seen anything! Please don’t use the flashy thing on me!” he wailed.

Laughter from further down the hall startled Harry into opening his eyes. A group of four men stood before him, various shades of amusement on each of their faces. They were the same men from the bank, Harry was sure of it, but they looked so unassuming in the plain clothes they were now wearing. They looked almost… normal.

“Come on,” one man said, stepping forward, and Harry would recognise those blue eyes anywhere. “Let’s sit you down. Get you some tea.” He shot the other men a significant look as he helped Harry to his feet and led him down the hall toward the lighted room.

Harry allowed himself to be bundled into an armchair. The blue-eyed man pulled an ottoman closer, prompting Harry to rest his injured ankle on it, and then hurried away to fetch Harry a cuppa.

This room didn’t look anything at all like Harry imagined a superhero’s lair to look. Instead of being ultra modern and covered in gadgets, it looked more like someone’s lounge—warm, cosy, comfortable. The armchair was flanked by a matching couch, and across the room was a pub table and four coordinating chairs. Harry could just make out a kitchenette through the doorway past the table, and the sound of running water and clinking dishes echoed from within. It all felt familiar and comforting, yet Harry couldn't shake the sensation that he was still in danger.

The other three men appeared then, two taking seats at the table and one, Payno, perching on the edge of the ottoman. Harry got a good look at him for the first time. He was handsome, with dark brown eyes and close-cropped brown hair. His jaw was dusted with scruff and set in a scowl as he looked Harry up and down.

“Erm,” Harry squeaked out, preemptively, “I promise I haven’t seen anything and I won’t tell anyone what you look like. Please just let me go.” He hated the fear in his voice, but he couldn’t do anything to shake it.

“Liam, give the lad some space,” the blue-eyed man chided, returning with a steaming mug of tea. He pressed the cup into Harry’s hands, taking a seat on the arm of Harry’s chair as if he was a buffer between Harry and the other three. He turned to Harry with kind eyes, a smile playing across thin lips. “What’s your name?”

“Harry,” Harry replied. He took a testing sip of his tea, the hot liquid familiar and soothing in an otherwise unbelievable situation. “I’m Harry.”

“Right,” the man replied brightly, smiling larger. “I’m sure Harry here is a reasonable lad and we can come to an agreement, eh?” He looked to each of his cohorts as if daring them to argue. “I’m sure we can discuss this like adults.”

One of the men at the table, dark-haired and covered in tattoos, crossed his arms. “What do you suggest, Tommo? I’d say this is a new one for all of us.”

The man on the ottoman—Liam, Tommo had called him—sighed, suddenly appearing more weary than intimidating. He looked Harry right in the eyes, squaring his shoulders. “Listen, Harry,” he began, “We’re in a bit of a predicament here. You’ve seen our faces, heard our names; we’ve worked very hard to keep our identities secret, and we can’t allow all that hard work to be for nothing. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

Harry tried to breathe slowly, evenly, focusing on the warmth of the mug in his hand and the steam rising off the tea and filling his flaring nostrils. “I understand,” he said softly. “But what does that mean for me?”

Liam quirked one side of his mouth up in a semblance of a smile. “Basically, it means I’m hoping there’s something we can do to convince you to keep this secret for us.”

“Or we flashy thing you,” the blond man at the table added seriously.

“Oh, shut it, Niall,” Tommo snapped at him. He placed a hand on Harry’s arm. “We don’t have one of those. Niall over there is just being a prick.” The blond, Niall, responded with a cheerful grin and a raised middle finger.

“Anyway,” Liam said sharply, glaring around the room. “Tell me, Harry. What will it take for you to help us out?”

This was not the way Harry saw things going at all. He was so sure that life as he knew it was over. And it was, in a sense, but perhaps to make room for a better one. “I’m a reporter,” Harry said, lowering the cup to make eye contact with Liam. “I’ll keep your identities secret if you make sure I’m always the first journalist on the scene when you guys are saving the day. Or whatever you call it.”

“A reporter, Christ,” the tattooed man muttered, and Niall kicked him beneath the table.

“Chill out, Zayn,” Niall said. He smiled at Harry. “To me it sounds like an opportunity to get some decent press. I imagine it would be good for your career as well.”

Harry ducked his head. “Yeah, in fact it would probably mean I’d actually get taken seriously at work. This could be my big break.” He carefully placed the mug on a table next to the armchair, leaning forward to look Liam in the face. “I swear to you I don’t remember the trip here, and I won’t tell anyone who you really are. I’ll even let you look at the articles before I publish them.”

Liam raised his eyebrows. “Well, Harry, I think the lads and I need to have a bit of a chat. Excuse us for just a moment.” He stood, gesturing for the other men to follow him, but turned back to Harry once more before leaving the room. “And keep that ankle elevated.”

Harry blinked at the command but nodded, and then he was alone once more. He picked up his mug, sipping at the cooling tea as he took a better look at the room. It was well-kept, but it was obvious someone regularly spent time there: a bookmarked paperback waited on an end table; an iPhone charger trailed up over the arm of the sofa; a pair of Xbox controllers sat on the coffee table. It looked almost like a student flat, minus the pizza boxes and beer, and Harry wondered how much time the members of One Direction spent there. Did they live in their hideout? Or just visit from time to time?

It only took about five minutes for the foursome to come to a decision, filing back into the room with unreadable expressions. They each returned to their previous seat except for Tommo, who leant against the wall with his arms crossed instead.

“Well, Harry, I think we’ve got ourselves a deal,” Liam said, holding his hand out to shake. “We’ll keep you in the know in return for you keeping our identities secret.”

Harry set down his now empty mug and took Liam’s hand. He remembered seeing it made of metal back at the bank, but it felt just like any other skin at the moment. “I think I can handle that,” Harry said, quirking his lips up in a smile. “Especially since we haven’t been properly introduced.”

Liam raised his eyebrows as he withdrew his hand. “No, I suppose we haven’t.” He pointed to the men sitting at the table. “That’s Niall and Zayn,” he said, pointing to the blond and tattooed men in turn. “The one against the wall over there is Louis, and I’m Liam.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He nodded his head toward Harry’s ankle. “Mind if I take a look at that now that you’re awake?”

Harry agreed, watching curiously as Liam unwrapped the bandage and gently inspected Harry’s ankle. It was pretty swollen, with indentations in the puffy skin from the wrinkles in the wrapping, but Liam didn’t seem worried about it. He rewrapped the bandage and placed Harry’s foot back on the ottoman.

“Nasty sprain, but it isn’t broken,” Liam said, patting Harry’s shin reassuringly. “You’ll be good as new before you know it. Just stay off it as much as you can.”

“I'll try,” Harry said, wiggling his toes. “Thank you.”

“No problem at all,” Liam replied. “Doctor Payne, at your service.”

Harry giggled at the moniker. “Is that, like, your superhero name?” he asked.

“No, that’s his real name,” Niall chimed in. “He’s really a doctor.”

“And he’s really a pain,” added Tommo. _Louis_ , Liam had introduced him as. There were so many different names that Harry couldn’t keep them all straight.

“See if I stitch you up next time,” Liam grumbled, ignoring the laughter from the other three.

Harry looked at each of the men around him, feeling overwhelmed. He was in a strange place, surrounded by strange people. He’d had a traumatic day, he’d been injured, and now all he wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed. To think, this all started with a lovesick cat up a tree, and now Harry was sat in the company of legends.

“Say, lads,” a soft voice spoke up. Louis. He pushed away from the wall, crossing the room to Harry’s chair. “Why don’t we get Harry here back home. He’s had a long day.”

“Very long,” Harry agreed, overcome with relief and gratitude that Louis sensed his discomfort. It wasn’t One Direction—they seemed like fun guys, the sort that Harry would have loved to befriend in uni—but everything together was a lot to handle, and he wanted the comfort of his shitty little flat.

Louis held out a hand, smiling. “C’mon, let’s get you home,” he said, helping Harry to his feet and slipping a thin, strong arm around Harry’s back to take the weight off his ankle. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he announced to the room at large, leading Harry toward the door.

Harry stopped just short of the doorway, pivoting enough to look back at the trio. “Thank you for everything,” he said earnestly.

“Don’t mention it,” Zayn said, now idly scribbling on the same notepad Harry had seen him use earlier. He couldn’t help but notice the large black and gray tiger tattooed on Zayn’s upper arm. “In the job description, innit?”

Liam rolled his eyes. “That’s Zayn’s way of saying ‘you’re welcome,’” he explained with a lopsided smile. “Take care, Harry. You’ll hear from us soon.”

There was a chorus of goodbyes, and then Louis was helping Harry down the hall and into a lift. The walls were smooth and shiny, some sort of metal, and there were only a few buttons on the control panel near the door. Louis pressed one marked with a ‘G’ and the doors whispered closed.

“Are you going to fly me home?” Harry asked softly, though his voice was thunderous in the silence of the lift. He faced straight ahead, able to watch Louis’ reflection in the polished wall.

Louis chuckled. “I’m afraid not,” he replied. “Bit showy and all. We’ll take a more conventional mode of transport.” With that the doors slid open to reveal some sort of garage. A multitude of vehicles were parked in neat rows, from cars to vans to motorbikes. Louis adjusted his grip on Harry’s waist and led him over to a shiny Aston Martin convertible.

“And this isn’t showy?” Harry asked incredulously. Louis didn’t answer, grinning slyly as he opened the door and helped Harry into the passenger seat. He watched as Louis went around and slid into the driver’s side, fastening his seatbelt and running his hands appreciatively over the steering wheel. This wasn’t the first time Louis had driven the car, Harry would wager.

Night had fallen while Harry was unconscious, and the mild evening air felt refreshing as it whipped into the open car. Harry had never been in a convertible before, and it was strange to feel so exposed whilst sitting in a car. He liked it, he decided, as he watched the wind catch Louis’ chestnut hair.

They didn’t speak much at first, only enough for Louis to ask Harry for his address, but after a few moments Louis cleared his throat. “Are you okay?” he asked, stealing a glance at Harry.

Harry considered it before responding. He wasn’t badly hurt, and though the day had been rather eventful he found himself more excited than traumatised. He was going to knock Nick’s socks off come Monday morning, and that was worth a run-in with Little Mix and a sprained ankle.

“I am,” Harry replied eventually, and meant it. “I really am. I’m a bit lost, though,” he admitted, turning his head to look at Louis’ profile. “Is your name Louis? Or Tommo? Is Liam really a doctor? Does Zayn have a tiger?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Louis said, lifting one hand off the wheel and holding it palm out. “One question at a time. My name is Louis Tomlinson. Tommo is something my friends call me.”

“Is that your alias?” Harry asked. It didn’t sound like a very cool superhero name. “And how can you fly?”

Louis laughed, a merry, bleating sound that had Harry joining in even if he wasn’t sure why. “My codename is Freefall,” Louis explained patiently. “I can’t fly, but I can control gravity. It means I can make things heavier or lighter, myself included.”

Harry felt his jaw drop open. “That is the coolest power I’ve ever heard of,” he admitted, certain he didn’t imagine the pleased smirk on Louis’ face. “What about the others?”

“Liam really is Doctor Liam Payne. He’s called Makeshift because he can transform parts of his body into different materials.” He shot Harry a sharp look. “I know what you’re about to ask, because it’s everyone’s first question, and all I’m going to say is this: yes, that part too, and never mention it to Liam if you value your life.”

Harry snapped his mouth shut.

“Niall Horan, the Irish one, he’s Captain Kinetic. He can harness energy, like the way you saw him catching Halo’s rings,” Louis explained, tracing a circle in the air with a finger.

“Is he the leader? Is that why he’s called Captain?” Harry asked. He didn’t peg Niall for the leader. Liam or Louis, perhaps, but not Niall.

“Nah,” Louis said, grinning wryly. “He just liked the name.”

Harry huffed out a laugh. “Okay then. And Zayn?”

“Zayn can control ink and goes by the name Remix,” Louis said. “He can bring his tattoos to life, like the tiger you saw, or he can use signs or drawings. Any printed image, really.”

It made a lot more sense, suddenly, the memory of the tiger turning into a cloud that seemed to sink back into Zayn’s body. It had been a tattoo and was returning where it belonged.

“This is me,” Harry said as Louis turned onto his street. Louis pulled the car over to the kerb, putting it in park and turning to face Harry as much as the seat would allow.

“Do you have any more questions?” he asked, the streetlights casting a shadow over his face that mimicked the mask he wore earlier. Just like then, his eyes still managed to shine through, blue and penetrating.

“Oh, loads,” Harry replied sadly. “But I think I’ll save them for another time.”

Louis lifted one side of his mouth, tilting his head as he looked at Harry. “That’s fair,” he allowed. “Do you need help getting inside?”

“No, thanks, I can manage,” Harry insisted, undoing his seatbelt and pushing open the car door. “I’m half convinced I’m going to wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a strange dream.”

“It’s not a dream, Harry,” Louis assured him. “Get some rest. We’ll see each other again soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Harry said seriously, before allowing a smile to overtake his face. “Good night, Louis.”

“Good night, Harry.”

Harry slowly made his way into the building under Louis’ watchful gaze. The Aston Martin didn’t pull away until Harry was safely upstairs in his own flat, the door locked and lights on, and Harry didn’t even bother undressing before collapsing into his bed. He barely managed to plug in his mobile before sleep overtook him, black and blissful, and he didn’t so much as stir until the next afternoon.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Aside from a superhero having his number, Harry’s life didn’t change much. Sure, Nick was impressed at the firsthand account of the Goldcorp Bank incident that Harry handed to him along with his cappuccino on Monday morning, but once it was evident that Harry didn’t have any more information on One Direction he was back to writing fluff pieces. His article on Bootsie the cat did get finished, as well as one about a youth football team raising money for new uniforms. Fluff. Filler. Now that Harry had had a taste for _real_ journalism, he craved more of it.

(Although, that footie team selling lopsided football cookies and brownies was pretty damn cute.)

The week seemed to drag by, each day dull compared to the events of last Friday, and Thursday found Harry sat at his desk staring blankly at his computer screen. He was making notes for his next article, one about the newest ice cream shop in town having a summer giveaway, when his mobile vibrated against the surface of his desk. Harry picked it up, frowning at the unknown number displayed on the screen.

_TLB Bank on Steeplechase._

Harry stared at the text message, taking a moment to comprehend the words. When it finally hit him, he was out of his chair in record time, grabbing his notepad and peeling out of the newsroom without a word to anyone.

“What’s got into Styles?” he heard a coworker ask in his wake, but Harry didn’t care what they thought of him. There was a story waiting.

Things at the bank were relatively quiet when Harry arrived… no emergency vehicles, no crowd, no explosions. Harry tentatively stepped inside the building, peering around for the conflict he expected to find waiting for him. Instead, it seemed to be business as normal, aside from the bright flash of coloured costumes flecking the otherwise drab clientele.

Harry made his way over to the heroes. “Hey,” he said lamely, unsure of how to properly greet superheroes.

The foursome turned toward his voice, all of them smiling when they caught sight of him. Maybe it was Harry’s imagination, but he thought that Louis’ grin was the largest, his eyes crinkling beneath the corners of his mask.

“Harry,” Liam greeted, extending a hand—currently flesh and bone—to Harry. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for contacting me,” Harry replied. “Erm, what am I here to see, exactly?”

Niall chuckled. “What, four superheroes doing their banking isn’t enough for you? Should I have invited along the Loch Ness Monster?”

“Don’t mind him,” Louis said, silencing Niall with a sharp look. “What Captain Kinetic here meant to say is that we have reason to believe this location is Little Mix’s next target, and we’re going to beat them to the punch.”

Harry’s heart sped up as adrenaline coursed through him at the thought of an impending attack. He was excited and scared, but also concerned for the innocent bystanders completely unaware that anything might be out of the ordinary. Well, aside from the masked men patrolling their bank, of course. “What about all these people?” Harry asked, eyes flitting around the patrons of the bank. “Shouldn’t they be evacuated?”

“They’re all undercover police,” Liam explained. “Civilians were evacuated hours ago. Tellers, customers, the lot of them.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, taking another look around. The men and women filling the bank were middle-aged at most, with no children or teenagers in sight. No elderly. “Huh,” he commented. “Smart.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve done this once or twice,” Zayn said, rolling his eyes. “Just make sure you stay out of the way. We can’t be spending our time making sure you’re okay.” His tone was harsh, but Harry could see the concern in Zayn’s brown eyes.

“Find a spot to hide,” Louis suggested, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t come out until we tell you to, and you’ll be just fine.” His eyes looked worried too, like he wanted nothing more than to get Harry out of harm’s way. Louis opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by the sound of an explosion at the doors of the bank.

“Go!” Niall ordered, pushing Harry in the direction of an office. Harry ducked inside and shut the door, peering through the slats in the blinds over the window.

As the cloud of smoke cleared, Harry could just make out the figures of four women standing at what remained of the entrance. The one called Mist waved a hand through the air, seeming to grab hold of the smoke and condense it into a swirling ball between her gloved hands.

“Well, girls, it looks like we’re fashionably late,” the blonde one said, hands on her hips and a fake pout on her full pink lips.

“You got the late part right, anyway,” Louis said, giving the woman an exaggerated once over. “Come on, Echo. The dominatrix look is a bit much.”

Echo sneered, her blue eyes far less kind than Louis’. “You’re one to talk, Freefall. If that suit were any tighter, I’d be concerned for your health.” Her eyes fell to the crotch of Louis’ uniform, a penciled eyebrow raised.

“My _health_ is just fine,” Louis retorted. “Yours will be too if you turn away now. It’s not too late.”

“Doesn’t work like that, love,” the shortest of the group said, flicking her long hair over her shoulder, the caramel highlights catching the light streaming in through the ruined entryway. _Halo,_ Harry’s brain supplied. “We’re here to do a job, and we’re going to do it with your cooperation or not.”

There was a beat of silence as the four members of One Direction looked at each other before turning their eyes back to the villains, jaws set and shoulders squared.

“Or not,” Louis replied, and they charged.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Harry had the story typed up and on his editor’s desk before the dust even settled. Once again One Direction had managed to thwart the robbery, and the bank remained mostly intact. There were photos, too, taken with Harry’s iPhone—the only ones taken from inside the scene of the battle. Other papers would be running spreads with stock photos or ones of the outside of the building while the _Morning Star_ had multiple shots of the action. If most of them happened to be of Freefall, well. Harry didn’t think anyone would mind.

Nick raised his eyebrows as he read over the stories, not bothering to hide his surprise. “This is good,” he said, clearly impressed, motioning at Harry with the printed story. “How did you manage this?”

Harry flushed under the praise. “I have a connection,” he admitted. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

“Is that so?” Nick asked, pursing his lips. Harry expected him to press for more information, but instead the editor put the story down on his desk. “Well, if you keep it up, there’s definitely a permanent position here in your future. This is exactly the kind of reporting we look for at the _Star.”_ He tapped the paper, knocking one of the photos loose from the paper clip. It was of Louis as Freefall, arms outstretched in front of him and mouth open wide in a shout. He was beautiful, the lines of his suit accentuating the curves of his body, strength coiled around his compact frame. All four of the heroes were a sight to behold, but Louis… Louis was the kind of hero that inspired epics.

It went on like that. Life would go back to normal for Harry, fetching coffee and writing filler pieces, but then his mobile would ring and Harry would drop everything and run. Day or night, if that unknown number flashed across his screen, he went—partly because with every story his future at the paper was looking brighter and brighter, but also in no small part because it meant seeing Louis.

Not that Harry got to spend much time with Louis. He was, after all, busy saving London from evildoers. Not just Little Mix, either; all manner of villains were foiled at the hands of One Direction, and Harry had a front row seat to each and every one.

It didn’t gain him any quality time with Louis, but it did earn Harry a promotion at the paper. With the frequency of his exclusive articles, Harry had officially been put on the crime beat at the _Morning Star._ It was huge, and Harry was happy, but just once he longed for his mobile to buzz and for it to be Louis he was meeting instead of Freefall.

Just getting to see Louis was a treat, though. Harry felt like he was learning more and more about Louis every week. He knew that Louis never hurt someone if he could help it, even a villain. He knew that Louis thought of One Direction as his brothers, and was the one each of the others looked to for guidance. Louis was a force to be reckoned with, and all it took was being in the same room with him to notice.

Despite his new prestige at work, Harry was still on coffee duty. He couldn’t complain, though—he was able to pick up something for himself each morning as well, and enjoyed making fun of Nick’s pretentious order with Claire the Barista. Mornings were still a bit chilly, so the walk to work was made even more pleasant with a hot coffee in hand.

Then again, a hot coffee down the front of one’s shirt is not quite as pleasant.

It was Harry’s own fault, not watching where he was going, and he stepped off the edge of the kerb and lost his balance. Nick’s foamy beverage survived the stumble, but the same could not be said for Harry’s far more sensible white chocolate mocha or the white polo he’d been wearing. Harry pulled the wet, sticky fabric away from himself with a sigh, thankful he hadn’t been burned. He’d have to do something about his clothes, though—he couldn’t show up for work with a large brown stain all across his front.

He was just about to turn around and head back to his flat to change when he spotted a small used clothing shop tucked between a Thai place and a bookshop. “That’ll work,” he said to himself, making for the door and tossing his empty cup into a nearby bin on the way in.

The shop was small, every wall covered in clothing racks and a few smaller stands set up in the middle for shoes and belts. There was no one at the counter, but a bell to ring for service, so Harry found his size and started rifling through the shirts. As expected there were a few rather hideous pieces, but quite a few were his style as well (and very reasonably priced). He picked out a simple striped button down and made his way over to the counter. The sound of the bell was loud in the small shop, and at its tone Harry could hear a door open from somewhere in the back.

“Be right there!” the voice called, just before a man with messy brown hair and bright blue eyes stepped into view.

Harry froze, the shirt wrinkling in his clenched fist. He knew that voice. He knew those eyes. “Louis?” he asked, hardly daring to believe it.

Louis’ eyes grew wide, his smile wider still. “Harry!” he exclaimed, stepping around the counter to pull Harry into a hug. “What a surprise. How did you figure out where I worked?”

“I didn’t,” Harry asked, reluctantly letting Louis go. He raised the button down in one hand and indicated his stained shirt with the other. “I had a bit of an emergency, and I ducked into the first shop I saw. I had no idea you would be here.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you all the same,” Louis said, taking the shirt from Harry and stepping back around to the till. “Now that you know how to find me, maybe I’ll see you more often.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, inserting his debit card into the chip reader. “Like this weekend, maybe.”

Louis handed over Harry’s receipt and new shirt. “I don’t work this weekend, I’m afraid.”

“I meant outside of work.”

Louis paused, startled blue eyes looking up to meet Harry’s. “Oh. _Oh,_ ” he said, finally processing what it was Harry wanted. “That would be great, Harry, really. I’m just not sure if it’s a good idea.”

“Oh,” Harry said, a rush of disappointment creeping up his shoulders until they curled forward under the weight. “I understand.” Of course Louis wasn’t interested in him—he was a nobody, and Louis was _everything._

“It isn’t that I don’t want to,” Louis amended quickly. “It’s just… You know how dangerous my life is. It isn’t fair of me to bring anyone else into that.”

Harry smiled hopefully. “I’m already in it.”

Louis thought about that, his face carefully blank as studied Harry. “So you are,” he said quietly. He smiled, a tentative thing but there all the same. “Well, then, I suppose I’ll see you this weekend.”

There was a new warmth spreading in Harry’s chest, and this one had nothing to do with spilt coffee. “I can hardly wait,” Harry replied, unable to keep the joy from his voice. “You have my number.”

Louis leaned forward on his elbows, the pose emphasising the muscles in his wiry arms. “I’ll text you,” he promised. “Have a good day at work, Harry.”

Right, work. Harry could have happily stood right there in that little shop all day, but he had assignments to work on and his editor’s rapidly cooling coffee to deliver. “You too. Bye, Louis.”

Harry made it all the way to the paper and into his desk chair before he realised that he hadn’t changed his shirt. Not that it mattered; it didn’t seem that anything could dampen his mood, even the teasing of his colleagues. He had a date with Louis that weekend.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

The rest of the week slid by at a glacial pace. There were no texts from the unknown number, and while Harry should be relieved that London was peaceful and quiet for the time being, he missed seeing Louis. He kept reminding himself that he would have Louis all to himself that Saturday. The next time Harry’s mobile buzzed with an unknown number, it was Louis’.

Finally, finally, Saturday arrived. Harry had showered, tried on three different outfits. Louis hadn’t said where he was taking Harry, just that Harry should wear ‘something comfortable.’ In the end, he settled on a pair of ripped skinny jeans and an oversized blue hoodie with white stripes. It wasn’t his most flattering ensemble, but he didn’t care—he was too busy hoping that the blue would remind Louis of the colour of his Freefall suit.

Louis was due at any moment, so Harry nervously checked his reflection once more and fussed with a bit of hair that wouldn’t go quite the way he wanted. He was still getting used to short hair, having only recently cut his shoulder length curls before he started interviewing for internships, and his styling technique left something to be desired.

Not Louis, though. Every time Harry had seen Louis, be it in the midst of battle or behind the counter of the clothing shop, his hair was artfully arranged. Harry was beginning to suspect it was a wig; surely no one’s hair was that perfect all the time.

He was just pondering how Louis would look bald, imagining him a bit like a young Charles Xavier from the X-Men, when a knock interrupted his thoughts. “Coming!” Harry called. He gave his own hair one last defeated look, stuck his tongue out at his reflection, and went to answer the door.

Only no one was at the front door. Harry stared out at the empty hallway, perplexed. Surely Louis would have mentioned if invisibility were one of his powers, right? He only felt the slightest bit silly when he reached out into the empty air, groping around for a body that wasn’t there. The knock sounded again, the sharp sound of knuckles on wood, and it took a moment for Harry to realise that the sound was coming from the balcony door.

Sure enough, Harry could see Louis through the glass of the balcony door. He was casually leaning against the railing as if it wasn’t strange at all to scale a balcony four storeys in the air, a large bouquet of stargazer lilies clutched in one hand. “Hey,” he said, his face breaking into a smile when Harry opened the door for him.

“Hey,” Harry replied, trying not to choke on the butterflies swirling ‘round his stomach and trying to come up his throat. “Dramatic entrance, there. Do you show off this much for all your dates?”

“Just the ones I want to impress,” Louis replied with a wink. He handed over the bouquet. “Speaking of, these are for you.”

Harry couldn’t contain his happiness as he took the flowers. “I love lilies,” he admitted, admiring the speckled pink petals. “We could never have them when I was younger, because they’re toxic to cats.”

Louis’ face fell. “Oh, God. You don’t have a cat now, do you? I thought roses would be too cliché and Liam said carnations aren’t date appropriate—”

“I don’t have a cat,” Harry assured him. “They’re perfect, Louis. Thank you.” He beckoned for Louis to follow him through to the kitchen so he could put the flowers in a vase. He figured his cheeks were as bright as the lilies themselves; no one had ever brought him flowers before.

“Nice place,” Louis commented, looking around.

“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to yours,” Harry laughed, trimming the stems so that the bouquet sat nicely in the vase he’d chosen. The arrangement looked lovely against the cream and black of his kitchen. “Where do superheroes live, anyway?”

Louis looked a bit embarrassed. “I mean, nowhere special. I still live with Liam in the flat we shared in uni.”

“Wait, you went to uni?” Harry asked, looking up at Louis in surprise. He figured Louis would have been too busy, you know, saving the world.

“I’m still a normal person, Harry. I just happen to be able to do some extraordinary things.”

Of course he was, and Harry instantly felt guilty of mentally depriving Louis of any normalcy. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Louis shrugged. “You aren’t totally wrong. There are lots of things I’ve had to miss out on because of my abilities. Dating, for example,” he said, giving Harry a wink. “But for the most part, I’ve tried to live my downtime just like any other guy.”

Harry wanted to ask a hundred more questions, so desperate to get to know this man outside of the costume, but Louis held out his hand. “Come on, there will be time for talking later. I believe we have a date to get to.”

The first part of the date was a lot like those Harry had been on in the past. Louis had booked a table at a nice Italian place. They’d chatted over dinner about how they each ended up in London for uni, and Louis listened as Harry talked about his job at the paper. “How about you?” Harry asked, taking a sip of his red wine. His glass was nearly empty and they were still working on their appetiser. “How did you wind up working in a clothes shop?”

Louis chuckled, putting down his wine glass that wasn’t much fuller than Harry’s. “It was a bit of an accident, really. It’s hard to hold down a job when you need to dash away at a moment’s notice, and I’d stumbled in there one day needing a quick change of clothes after a fight.” He pushed the appetiser plate toward Harry, offering him the last piece of bruschetta. “The old lady who owned the place asked if I was there to apply for the job opening, not seeming to care that I was wearing my half-destroyed suit, and I agreed to it. She’s never said a word about my identity, and she only pretends to tell me off when I disappear during a shift.”

“That’s really cute,” Harry said, resting his chin on his fist. “I’d like to meet her someday.”

Louis’ grin was wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “I’d like that too.”

After dinner and a couple more glasses of wine, Louis insisted on paying before whisking Harry out to his car for an evening drive. It was a nice night so Louis had the top down, so reminiscent of the evening they first met. Harry lost track of time as they drove, singing along to the radio and laughing along with Louis, and then the city was fading into the countryside. Harry had no idea where they were going and found he didn’t care; there was good food in his stomach and wine warming his blood, and the company was unparalleled. He felt happier, freer than he had in ages.

Louis pulled the car over next to an empty field, only a few small hills and trees dotting the landscape. “What are we doing?” Harry asked, letting a pleased blush colour his cheeks as Louis came around to open his door for him.

“Over there,” Louis said, pointing to one of the hills in the distance. “I thought we could watch the sunset together.”

It should have been cheesy, and coming from anyone else it might have been, but Harry was completely and utterly charmed by the romance of it. “Okay,” he breathed, and allowed Louis to take his hand and lead him through the field.

The hill wasn’t very high, more like a gentle swell, but the land dipped lower on the other side and presented the pair with a lovely view of the verdant land below. The sun was already making its way to the horizon, sending out tendrils of pink and orange light as a farewell, casting everything in a golden glow.

Louis looked even more breathtaking like this, in jeans and a band shirt, a blazer over the top to dress up the outfit. His hair was down, soft, and his eyes seemed to catch the dying light and reflect it back tenfold. He unrolled the blanket that he brought from the car and gestured for Harry to have a seat once it was spread out on the grass.

“This is really nice,” Harry commented, still not quite believing this was all happening to him. He had never been on a date with so much thought put into it; he’d always felt like the one putting forth all the effort.

Louis sprawled out next to him, propping himself up on his hands and splaying his legs in front of him. He had kicked off his shoes when Harry wasn’t looking, and now Louis wiggled his bare toes in the soft grass.

“This is where I came when I was first learning how to use my powers,” Louis explained quietly, head tipped back to catch the last light of the day. “I needed someplace where I could be alone, and far away from anything I could damage.”

It felt like Louis was giving permission to talk about what Harry had been dying to ask for weeks. “How long have you known? About your powers?”

“Since I was eighteen,” Louis said, turning to face Harry. “It’s different for everyone, apparently. There isn’t exactly much known about who develops powers and why, or even the extent of our abilities.” Louis sat up, looking down at his open hands. “One night I went to bed completely normal, and I woke up the next morning floating above my bed.”

“What did you do?” Harry whispered, scooting closer.

Louis chuckled. “I looked it up on the internet. At least, I tried to. There aren’t many people who take floating teenagers seriously.” He gave Harry a sad, lopsided smile. “I couldn’t tell anyone for months. I didn’t want to worry my mum, and my friends wouldn’t have believed me, so I just kept it to myself.”

Harry’s heart clenched. He couldn’t imagine how lonely that must have felt, carrying around so big a secret for so long. How lonely it must still feel. Besides Harry and the other members of One Direction, Louis still couldn’t tell anyone what he could do.

Louis continued on. “When I got to uni and met Liam, it was like a breath of fresh air. He knew there was something different about me, and one day he followed me out here and saw me trying out my powers. I was so scared at first, and then he turned his arms into tree limbs, and that was that.” His smile was warmer now, more genuine. “We’ve been mates ever since. Niall and Zayn wandered into our lives a year later, and One Direction was born.”

The sun was nearly gone now, but neither man was too concerned with watching it. Harry was looking at something far more rare and exquisite. “Will you tell me about them? Your powers?”

“Better than that,” Louis replied, hopping to his feet. “I can show you.” He walked away from Harry, his back to the setting sun. It looked like he was heading back to the car until he suddenly turned around and ran as fast as he could toward the other side of the hill. When he reached the crest, he simply… jumped off.

Harry rushed after him, certain he was going to see Louis tumbling down the slope or lying broken in the valley beyond. Instead, Louis was hovering in midair, completely unharmed and looking far too smug about it. “You scared me!” Harry accused, his heart beating frantically.

Louis almost looked apologetic. “I can control gravity,” he explained. He moved through the air and reached out a hand. “Come on, it’s safe.”

It was a terrifying feeling, standing on solid ground one moment and being pulled up into the sky the next. Harry squeaked, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle, but he felt well and truly weightless. “This is insane,” he whispered, daring to peer down at the earth below them and feeling a bit sick after.

“I can go a lot higher, but I’ll keep us close to the ground for tonight,” Louis said, holding Harry close with one arm. “I can alter the gravity around myself and other objects, making them as heavy or light as I want.” He lowered them back to the ground and motioned for Harry to sit back down on the blanket.

No sooner had Harry sat than his entire body felt incredibly heavy. His back was on the ground before he could react, his arms flung above his head. It felt like he was being covered by a lead blanket, or what he imagined being stuck in quicksand to feel like. “I can’t move!” Harry giggled, trying to fight the increased gravity and failing.

“That’s kind of the point,” Louis said, and then the hold was gone and Harry felt almost light enough to float away again.

“That’s incredible,” Harry said, still giggling so hard his eyes were watering. He swiped at his wet cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie and pulled himself together, managing to sit up and smile at Louis through eyes still wet with tears of mirth. “You’re incredible, Lou.”

Louis joined Harry on the blanket, wiping at some stray wetness that Harry had missed. “Nah,” he said softly. “I’m nothing special.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, to prove Louis wrong, so he leaned forward and kissed him. The suddenness of it caught Louis by surprise, but soon he was framing Harry’s face with his hands and kissing right back, warm and wet and tasting of wine. When Louis’ tongue tentatively swiped at Harry’s lower lip, Harry accepted it hungrily, moaning in pleasure as Louis laid claim to his greedy mouth.

It was over too soon, leaving Harry panting and staring at Louis in wide-eyed wonder. Louis looked gorgeous in the dying light, his eyes dark and his lips red from kissing. He was staring at Harry like he was the special one, like he was so much more than average, and it took every bit of Harry’s willpower not to pull Louis back in for another snog.

“It’s getting late,” Louis commented, gesturing to the darkening sky. “I should probably get you home.” He said it reluctantly, like he didn’t want to leave their hilltop sanctuary any more than Harry did.

The drive home was quiet aside from the rushing wind and the chirps of insects. As they got closer to the city, the insects were traded for the sounds of traffic, still going strong on a Saturday evening. It wasn’t that late, really; it would be hours yet before Harry crawled into bed.

And when he did, he knew he’d be playing that kiss on repeat in his head, over and over, would lie awake wondering what those lips might feel like on the rest of his body. He had to shake himself out of it, filing the memory away for now lest he find himself with an awkward boner in Louis’ passenger seat.

They pulled up in front of Harry’s flat. There was an awkward pause as they sat in the idling car, neither of them sure what to say. Harry had learned a thing or two about bravery these past few weeks, though, so it was him who broke the silence.

“Do you want to come up for a drink?”

Louis look pleased, relieved even, and gave Harry a nod as he turned off the car. Harry led Louis into his building by way of the front door this time, and soon they were back where the date had started.

There was a bottle of sweet red wine in the fridge, the cheap kind, but Harry wasn’t trying to impress anyone and it was his favourite. He poured two generous glasses and handed one to Louis. “To a wonderful evening,” Louis said, raising his glass in a toast.

Harry raised his own, the rich burgundy of the liquid catching the light. He could see something bright and colourful reflected on the glass, and—right, Louis had brought him lilies. They stood proudly in their vase, blooms open wide, and Harry smiled as he raised his glass to his lips. It was the best night he’d had in a while, and the best date in far longer than that.

They sat at opposite ends of the couch and the shabby little sofa had never felt so big as it did in that moment. Harry missed the closeness they shared on the hilltop. Maybe he could spread out a blanket on the floor?

Harry didn’t, though. Instead the pair sipped their wine in silence, Louis looking around Harry’s flat but never quite at Harry. Maybe Louis was nervous—Harry certainly was—but superheroes didn’t get nerves, did they? Besides, it was only the first date.

“This has been so nice,” Louis said, and Harry was startled to realise Louis’ wine was gone. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I didn’t have to hide who I was.”

“You never have to hide anything from me,” Harry murmured in reply, cheeks flushed from the wine and maybe also from the way Louis was moving closer.

“Is that so?” Louis chuckled in reply. He took Harry’s wine glass, not quite empty, and set the pair on the coffee table, leaving both their hands free. “Then I don’t have to hide how much I want to do this.”

The space between them disappeared as Louis leaned in and claimed Harry’s mouth in a kiss. It was just as electric as the first kiss had been, the kind Harry could feel all the way down to his toes. His arms found their way around Louis’ neck, pulling their torsos closer. Louis had one arm around Harry’s back, the other tangled in his hair, and Harry gave a gasp of pleasure when Louis tugged gently at the strands. Louis responded to the gasp with a moan, tearing his lips away from Harry’s to kiss down the side of his neck.

“Louis,” Harry whined, throwing his head back to allow Louis better access. Louis responded with a playful nip of his teeth that had Harry crying out.

“Mmm?” Louis hummed, his lips never leaving the sensitive skin along Harry’s throat.

Harry was nervous all over again, but he wanted this so badly. He wanted more of Louis’ mouth and hands and teeth, more of _Louis._ “Can we move this to the bedroom?”

The air felt cool against Harry’s damp neck as Louis pulled away to look at Harry, not even bothering to conceal the desire in his hooded eyes. “Is that what you want?” Louis asked, his voice a low rasp that made Harry shiver.

Harry stood up, holding out a hand for Louis and leading him down the hall to his bedroom. It was a bit messier than Harry liked, but then he hadn’t planned on anyone else seeing it tonight. It didn’t matter, though, because Louis didn’t take his eyes off Harry long enough to see the room.

They clumsily helped each other from their clothes, every button and zipper a little victory, and fell into the bed together wearing only their pants. Harry rolled them so he was on top, taking a moment to appreciate Louis’ bare body for the first time. He wasn’t bulky by any means, but Harry could see the muscles hiding beneath Louis’ tanned skin. “You’re gorgeous,” Harry said, leaning down to taste the irresistible jut of a collarbone.

Louis arched into the contact, his hands finding Harry’s hips and grinding their bodies together. “You’re not so— ah, bad yourself,” he moaned, digging his fingers into Harry’s flesh, fingertips encouraging more of the tantalizing friction.

The thin fabric of Harry’s pants did little to hide his erection, but Louis was hard too. Harry rutted against him one more time and then suddenly Harry was on his back, Louis having flipped them over.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me? How bad I want you?” Louis mouthed at Harry’s neck as he spoke, a trail of teeth and tongue.

“Please,” Harry replied, digging his fingertips into Louis’ bare back, hoping Louis would know what Harry was asking for. What he _needed._

Louis met Harry’s eyes, searching for something, and whatever it was he seemed to find it. He pressed his lips to Harry’s briefly before grabbing hold of Harry’s pants, following them down his body until Harry was fully nude and Louis was off the bed. He made quick work of his own boxers, and Harry had to lean up on his elbows to appreciate the view.

“Like what you see?” Louis asked teasingly, taking his hard cock in one hand and stroking it lazily. He was beautiful, all golden skin and tightly coiled muscles, a hidden power lurking below the surface.

The sight was enough to make Harry’s mouth water. He wanted to get his mouth on Louis, on any part he could reach; he licked his own lips, trying to still his restless tongue. “I’d enjoy touching far more,” Harry replied, and Louis’ eyes grew dark.

Louis climbed back on the bed, on top of Harry, and lowered himself until their bodies were flush. He kissed Harry’s chest, his neck, finally his lips, all the while rubbing his dick against Harry’s thigh. “What do you want?” Louis asked, nibbling at Harry’s earlobe.

Maybe it was the wine that had Harry feeling bold, but more likely it was Louis himself. The same way that he led One Direction, inspired them to persevere and stand strong, he inspired Harry to be brave and say what he was really thinking for once. At the moment, that was: “I want you to fuck me.” 

“Oh,” Louis gasped, his breath hot against Harry’s ear. “Oh, I was hoping you would say that.” He pressed a messy kiss to Harry’s lips, hot and desperate, only breaking it to fetch the lube when Harry told him where it was. Louis crawled between Harry’s spread legs, already slicking up his fingers before his knees even hit the bed.

The first finger was a welcome intrusion, waking up nerve endings that Harry’s body had forgotten. For someone so strong, Louis handled Harry like he was something precious. Just knowing what those hands were capable of, seeing them lift cars and office furniture like they were playthings, and then feeling them inflict such careful pleasure—Harry was amazed by both sides of Louis.

If Louis’ fingers felt amazing, they were nothing compared to his cock. Harry cried out when Louis pushed inside, reveling in the way his body opened for Louis. It had been a while since Harry had been intimate with someone—not so long that he had forgotten what it felt like—but this? It had never felt like this before.

When Louis was fully inside he stopped, his sweaty body hovering just over Harry’s as he braced himself on his forearms. Louis’ mouth was parted in a silent gasp, like he couldn’t quite believe that it felt _that good._ He dropped his damp forehead to Harry’s. “You feel so good,” Louis praised, rocking his hips experimentally.

“More,” Harry begged, and Louis complied. It wasn’t going to take long, not with the alcohol in Harry’s blood and how badly his body wanted release, but Louis still managed to make it last. He dismantled Harry with deep, even thrusts, punctuating them with staccato snaps of his hips just when Harry was getting comfortable. It was exquisite: the way Louis knew just how deep to go and when to speed up, when to draw it out and when Harry was ready for the excruciating end.

It may have been the wine, but to Harry it felt like their bodies worked in tandem, giving and taking as simply as plants with the sun. “I’m close,” Louis warned, but the words were redundant; Harry could feel it in the stutter of Louis’ hips, in the tremble of his thighs. Harry surged upward, claiming Louis’ mouth in a kiss that was more teeth than technique, and Louis reached between their dripping bodies to wrap a hand around Harry’s neglected cock. It only took a few slick pumps before Harry was spilling over Louis’ fist as he screamed into his mouth, his body feeling white hot at every point of contact. Louis tore his lips away to let out a breathy moan, chasing his own orgasm and then burying himself in deep when it took hold. Harry’s head fell back against the rumpled sheets as he savoured the feeling of Louis coming inside him.

They relaxed into one another, sated and tired, and for the second time that night, Harry felt weightless.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Things were really good.

Harry thought his life was good four months ago when he found an internship so soon out of uni. He thought it was good when he met One Direction and secured a real job at the paper after only a couple months.

Now, though, life was _really_ good.

Harry was off coffee duty: There was a new intern at the paper, a young woman named Bebe, and she dutifully showed up each morning with Nick’s foamy drink. She was Harry’s age and perfectly happy to be passed the filler stories that used to fall to him. “Do you really know One Direction?” she’d ask once a week or so, leaning over her desk to gaze at Harry with stars in her eyes. “They’re all so dreamy.”

“I do,” Harry would reply patiently, before launching into a story about one of his encounters with the group. He got a text from them every two weeks or so, a new bank robbery or art theft or attempted attack on some government official. Each time Harry was right there in the midst of it, far enough away to be safe while still being able to get the details he needed for his story.

Between those texts, though, came far more frequent ones from Louis. They spoke nearly every day, little things about work or the weather or the weird dream Louis had the night before. Sometimes Louis would send pictures, silly outfits he’d put together at the clothing shop, or links to articles about One Direction (“not near as good as yours,” he’d always say, before quoting a line about how devastatingly handsome Freefall was and how wonderful his arse looked in his blue suit. Harry never actually found the line that was being quoted, but whatever).

Harry’s favourites were the ones that led to getting to see Louis. Sometimes Louis would stop by the paper to bring Harry lunch, others he would be waiting when Harry got off to walk him home or invite him to dinner. Harry felt like he was spending almost as much time at Liam and Louis’ flat as his own.

He was there now, curled up on the couch with Louis and watching _Bob’s Burgers_ on Netflix. Harry had his head pillowed in Louis’ lap, Louis’ fingers gently combing the tangles out of his hair. The stomach bug that had been floating around the paper had finally got hold of Harry, and Louis was brave enough to coddle Harry through it.

“Do you want some soup?” Louis asked between episodes, bending to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

Harry peered up at him, one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “You can’t cook,” Harry reminded him. It was true; the first time Louis invited him over resulted in a very burnt frozen pizza and a call to Dominos.

“I know. I was going to have Liam make you some.”

Harry chuckled, turning his face into the soft swell of Louis’ belly. “I’m okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to the strip of exposed skin above the waistband of Louis’ joggers. “Could go for a cuppa, though.”

“Coming right up,” Louis said fondly. When he returned it was with a steaming mug of tea, just the way Harry liked it, and a cranberry scone leftover from their visit to the bakery down the street.

“Best boyfriend ever,” Harry sighed happily, sitting up to take his treats. He nearly spilled the tea when he realised what he said, looking over the rim at Louis with frightened eyes. “Erm, I mean—”

“Oh, is that what I am?” Louis asked, sitting down next to Harry and tapping him on the nose with a pastry of his own. “Here I thought I was your personal assistant.”

“Don’t forget bodyguard,” Harry added, laughing.

“And nurse.”

“And masseuse.”

“And boyfriend,” Louis said.

“And boyfriend,” Harry agreed, taking a sip of his tea to hide the childlike excitement on his face. It was still too hot and he burnt his tongue, but Harry barely even noticed.

Harry felt well enough to return to work the next day, and Louis insisted on walking him the entire way there. They kissed goodbye in front of all Harry’s coworkers, and Louis left with a promise to see Harry after work. Harry sat down in his desk chair with a goofy grin on his face, not even flinching when Nick came over to his desk and smacked a stack of paper down on it.

“Who was that?” Nick asked, nodding at the door Louis had just exited through.

“My boyfriend,” Harry replied dreamily. It was the first time he’d ever said it out loud since it became official, and his stomach did a somersault at the word. Louis was his _boyfriend._

Nick raised his eyebrows appreciatively as he took a drink of his coffee. “Nice work, Styles,” Nick said before moving off to torment one of the other reporters. Harry had a feeling that Nick wasn’t talking about the article now sitting on his desk covered in red pen marks.

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

“Harry? You okay in there?”

Harry looked up from the toilet at the sound of Louis’ voice. It seemed that his stomach bug had gone only to return with a vengeance, and Harry was getting very tired of it.

“Yeah,” Harry called back, flushing the toilet and pulling himself to his feet. “Just feeling a little off today.” He washed his hands and brushed his teeth before wandering out into his flat in search of Louis, looking for sympathy and cuddles. He found Louis waiting in the bedroom, the bed freshly made and a tray sitting on the bedside table.

“I made you some tea and toast,” Louis said, pulling the covers back for Harry and placing the tray gently in his lap. “Thought it might help settle your poor stomach.”

“You’re the best,” Harry sighed happily, relieved to find that the smell of toast didn’t have him running back to the toilet. “Best boyfriend ever.”

Louis laughed, crawling into bed next to Harry carefully so as not to jostle the tea. “I like taking care of you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple. “It’s refreshing to just get to be myself around someone.” Louis’ cheeks turned red. “Especially someone I care so much about.”

Harry’s stomach gave a little flip, but not from nausea this time. “I care about you too,” he said softly. More than that—he was falling in love with Louis. Hell, he’d probably already fallen, sucked into Louis’ unusual gravity and hitting bottom faster than he ever thought possible. He set the tray aside, reaching for Louis and pulling him close, burying his nose against the warmth of Louis’ neck. “I love you.”

Louis gripped him back, just as tight. “I love you too, Harry.” He moved his head so their lips could meet in a kiss, dry and warm but no less intense for its simplicity.

“You know,” Harry said once they parted, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “I find I’m suddenly feeling much better.”

“Are you now?” Louis murmured, taking the hint. He moved the tray aside and covered Harry’s body with his own. “Let’s see if we can get you feeling even better.”

Harry couldn’t argue with that.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

If super villains had a season, it was back in full swing by the next week. Harry barely saw Louis at all outside of work, and he couldn’t exactly give Freefall a kiss goodbye in front of everyone. It was too dangerous; if people knew that Harry was connected to One Direction, he would be a target. Louis had said: “It’s too risky, and I won’t put you in any more danger than I already have.”

On the bright side, lots of crime meant lots of articles for Harry to write. He even won an award for up-and-coming English journalists, earning him a raise and that much more respect in the newsroom. It was taking a toll on Harry, though; he constantly felt exhausted, and muscles he didn’t even know he had were aching. When he remembered to eat, which wasn’t as often as he liked, it was a battle to keep anything down. Maybe it was too much all at once—success at work, the pressure of meeting expectations, not to mention a new relationship with a literal superhero.

“Oof, you look rough,” Bebe remarked one morning, scooting her chair closer to Harry’s desk. “Stay out too late with that fit boyfriend of yours?”

Harry gave her a wan smile. He’d already lost his breakfast that morning, and the smell of her coffee was stirring up an encore. “I’m just under the weather,” he insisted, popping a piece of mint gum in his mouth to calm his stomach. It seemed to help. “Louis’ been too busy with work for us to do anything.”

Bebe, thankfully, set her coffee back on her desk before reaching out to feel Harry’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever or anything. What’s the matter?”

He felt silly listing his symptoms, describing things like muscle aches and bloating like they weren’t everyday problems. But Bebe listened intently, sitting more still than Harry had ever seen her, and cleared her throat softly when he was finished.

“And how long has this been going on?” she asked, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes.

Harry thought about it. That first stomach bug seemed like ages ago, now. “Not quite a month,” he said, counting back the weeks in his head. “Since the day before Louis and I became official.” He’d never forget it, lying on the couch feeling ill and accidentally calling Louis his boyfriend.

Bebe narrowed her eyes. “Huh. You don’t have to answer this, but were you being, um, intimate by then?”

“Bebe!” Harry hissed, looking around to see if anyone else had heard her. Somehow he doubted this fell under ‘appropriate workplace conversations,’ and journalists were terrible gossips. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She looked just as embarrassed. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. It’s just that, your symptoms seem an awful lot like, well…”

“Like what?” Harry demanded, starting to panic. Cancer? Some awful incurable disease? His heart began to thud uncomfortably hard as he let himself worry.

“Like you’re pregnant.”

Harry couldn’t help it; he laughed. “That’s impossible. I’m on the pill.” He even had a daily alarm set on his mobile to remind him to take it.

Bebe scoffed, flipping her long platinum hair over one shoulder. “It’s not one hundred percent effective. It happens all the time.”

“Yeah, well, not to me,” Harry said, bristling. He was offended that she’d even think he could be that careless; he was almost religious about taking his pills and always used condoms as a backup, just in case.

Except… Except for when…

Harry’s face fell.

“Just take a test, to rule it out,” Bebe said encouragingly. “What can it hurt?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied hollowly. “Yeah, what can it hurt?”

Bebe’s words stuck with him the rest of the day, bouncing around his skull to the point that he couldn’t concentrate on the story he was trying to write. He found himself wishing for a text with the address of a bank or museum, anything to distract him from his own thoughts. The text never came, and Harry was left trying his best to reassure himself.

 _You always take your pill,_ he told himself on the way home. _You always use condoms. You forgot_ one time, _but that’s it. It wouldn’t happen on the first time. People try for years to get pregnant._ He repeated each line in his head all the way home from work, and all the way into Boots, and all the way to the counter with the little purple box in hand.

By the time he was home and peeing on the test, he almost had himself convinced.

A minute later, his world turned upside down.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

“You’re _what?”_ Gemma’s voice assaulted him through the speaker.

Harry winced, pulling his mobile away from his ear to spare himself from his sister’s shrieking. “I’m not completely sure yet. It was just one test.”

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone!” Gemma carried on happily. “Mum’s going to have kittens. Who’s the other father?”

“I haven’t told him yet,” Harry muttered glumly. Telling Gemma his news had been terrifying enough; he really didn’t want to think about breaking it to Louis or his mother. He knew that the latter would be overjoyed to have another grandchild to love on. The former, though? He wasn’t so sure.

Gemma clucked her tongue. “Then why on earth are you talking to me instead of him?” There was a beat of silence. “You _do_ know who the father is, don’t you, H?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then tell him,” Gemma said, as if it were that simple, and maybe it was. “It’s his baby too; he deserves to know. If he— Nora, get that out of your mouth! Sorry,” she said with a laugh. “This is what you have to look forward to.”

Harry giggled, picturing his niece causing mischief like normal. She was almost four with a personality as big as her mother’s, and Harry loved her to bits. He cupped his stomach with the hand not holding his mobile. While he still hadn’t quite come to terms with the fact that there was a child growing inside him, now he was starting to wonder what they might be like. If his child was half the spitfire his niece was, he would be in for a wild ride—but also incredibly lucky.

“I have to go,” Gemma said apologetically. “The baby is asleep and I need to get Nora in the bath— _yes,_ young lady—before he wakes up. Talk to the other father, okay? And call Mum.”

“I will,” Harry promised. “Give the kids my love, and tell Matt I said hello.”

Conversation ended, Harry was left alone with his thoughts. He made himself a cup of tea before settling down on his sofa, snuggling up under his favourite blanket.

God, he was _pregnant._

Harry always saw himself having kids, especially since Nora was born, but he didn’t plan on having them quite so soon. He figured he would be married first, with an established career—not fresh out of college and a month into a new relationship.

A tear slid down Harry’s cheek as he cradled his stomach. It wasn’t sadness, or regret; it was just a lot to be feeling all at once. He was going to be a father. In a few short months there would be a baby in the world, a mixture of Harry and Louis, and it would depend on Harry to give it the best life he could. Well, not just Harry.

“I’ll tell him soon,” Harry promised, maybe to himself, maybe to the tiny baby in his belly. “I will.”

Telling Louis, though, seemed to be easier said than done.

It wasn’t a conversation Harry wanted to have in a text message, or over the phone, but catching Louis in person was proving impossible. Little Mix seemed to be ramping up their efforts, and in between attacks Louis still had to work at the clothing shop and find time to sleep. It meant he had very little energy and attention to spare for Harry, right when the pregnant man needed it most.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Louis said, pulling Harry close to him in bed. “I feel like I haven’t seen you at all this week.” His words came out long, stretched around a yawn.

“It’s okay,” Harry said, snuggling into Louis’ embrace. “Get some sleep, love. It’ll settle down soon.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Louis like this, when Louis was exhausted and needed to sleep while he could. The baby wasn’t going anywhere. It could wait.

In the meantime, Harry was feeling more pregnant every day. Now that he knew the cause of his symptoms, it seemed like they hit with full force. He wasn’t showing yet, but his trousers were starting to feel tight. The added pressure on his stomach didn’t help the fact that he felt like he had to pee every five minutes, and he counted it a good day if he was only sick once.

“I’m so tired,” Harry whined, laying his head down on his desk. “Is it Friday yet?”

“It’s Tuesday,” Bebe said sympathetically, only laughing a little when Harry groaned.

“I just want to sleep for a week straight,” he said. “I guess this is good practice for having a newborn.”

“Except hopefully you won’t be doing that alone,” Bebe said pointedly. “Are you ever going to tell Louis?”

Harry winced. Gemma had called him just last night to ask the same thing. He couldn’t exactly explain why he hadn’t told Louis the news yet, despite having known for nearly two weeks now. ‘My boyfriend is a superhero and doesn’t have time for a baby’ wasn’t something other people would understand. “Not yet,” he said lamely, feeling Bebe’s judgmental stare. “I’m going to.”

“I know you’re nervous, but you’ll feel a lot better if you get it over with,” Bebe urged him. “Just make a dinner reservation somewhere, break the news, and celebrate.”

“He’s busy,” Harry said weakly.

Bebe arched a penciled eyebrow. “He has time for dinner.”

Sighing in defeat, Harry pulled out his mobile to text Louis. He smiled when he saw he already had a text waiting from his boyfriend.

_Miss you baby x_

_Miss you too xx,_ Harry replied. _Can we go for dinner tonight?_

Louis’ reply came a few minutes later. _I’d love that :) Let me know when and where and I’ll be there !_

Harry clutched his mobile to his chest and drew in a shaky breath. It was really going to happen; he was going to tell Louis about the baby today. He only hoped that Louis would want to celebrate. Harry couldn’t help but think back to the Louis who was reluctant to start a relationship because of his lifestyle—surely having a child wasn’t even on his radar. But on the other side of that was the Louis that cared more about other people than he did himself, who talked about his younger siblings with starry eyes, who lived his life to protect the innocent.

That was the man Harry was going to have a baby with, and he felt so full of love that he might actually burst. The feeling was quickly replaced by a wave of nausea when Nick walked past Harry’s desk with takeaway, something greasy that had Harry’s stomach doing flips. Harry clapped a hand over his mouth, willing himself not to lose his own lunch.

“Party too hard last night, Styles?” Nick teased, before disappearing into his office and taking the offensive smell with him.

Harry glared at his retreating back. “I’m going to vomit right in front of him next time he pokes fun at me,” Harry promised, swallowing hard.

Bebe didn’t even glance away from her computer screen when she said, “Aim for his shoes.”

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Harry didn’t get to tell Louis that night.

Dinner was canceled due to a pair of wannabe villains hijacking a double-decker bus full of tourists. The fellows of One Direction rescued everyone safely and apprehended the perpetrators, but saving the day took long enough that Harry’s plans had to be postponed.

Nick was happy with the article, at least, which meant he wasn’t too harsh when Harry dozed off on his desk the next afternoon. His editor smacked the surface of Harry’s desk as he walked by, jolting the exhausted reporter awake. “Nap time’s over, Styles,” Nick said in a singsong voice as he passed.

Bebe didn’t say anything, just giggled from her desk, and Harry replied by blowing a raspberry at her. She rolled her eyes at him and went back to whatever she was working on, and Harry took a moment to check his texts.

He had one from Gemma, a photo of some baby things Jonah had outgrown that she wanted to give him first dibs on. He sent her back a thumbs up emoji. The other unread message was from Louis.

_I’m so sorry about last night :( Let me make it up to you tonight ??_

Harry sighed. He wanted nothing more than to actually spend an evening with his boyfriend, but he was so tired that all he wanted to do was go home and go straight to bed. It could wait one more night. _I’m so tired,_ Harry replied. _Tomorrow night?_

 _Deal xx_ Louis replied. _Love you !_

_Love you too xx_

Harry slid his mobile back into his pocket, a smile on his face. He was going to go home and get a good night’s sleep tonight, and then tomorrow night he would tell Louis his big news. _Their_ big news. No matter how Louis reacted, Harry knew he would feel loads better having finally told him.

Of course, plans change.

Harry was just packing up for the day, tidying up his desk and shutting down his computer, when his mobile vibrated. He figured it was Louis, texting him to wish Harry a safe trip home and a good night, but instead the message had his stomach dropping.

_Capital Bank on Rhode St._

Harry chewed at his lip as he stared at the message. He was so tired; all he wanted in the world was to crawl into bed and sleep until morning. He also didn’t need to show up to every incident, necessarily, but for some reason he felt like he needed to go to this one. Maybe because a bank meant Little Mix, or perhaps because he wanted to see Louis for at least a few minutes, even if it was in the form of Freefall. That settled it, then.

“Louis again?” Bebe asked, slinging her brightly coloured purse over one arm and grabbing her travel mug.

Harry shook his head, joining her on the walk out of the building. “No. One Direction.”

“Ooh!” she squealed excitedly. “Careful, they text you enough that Louis might start to get jealous!”

Harry laughed at that. _If she only knew…_

The bank was across town, so the fight was in full swing by the time Harry got there. It seemed to be taking place from the roof of the bank, smoke and light filling the sky from the top of the building. The usual crowd of emergency responders and curious onlookers ringed the perimeter, craning their necks for a glimpse of the action.

Harry wasted no time finding a fire escape that led to the roof. He sought cover behind a duct of some sort, the occupants of the roof too preoccupied to notice a new arrival. Harry didn’t know where to look; each member of One Direction was engaged with a member of Little Mix, flashes of light and puffs of smoke filling the air. Amorphous black shapes that could only be Remix’s tattoos disappeared as Halo caught them with her rings, new images replacing them as fast as she could destroy them. Captain Kinetic was running round and round Mist, turning her smoke into a funnel cloud and using it against her. There was a piercing wail coming from Whisper’s lips, but Makeshift had made his ears flatten into the side of his head and was advancing on her, one hand growing steadily larger as if he planned to wrap it around her as a restraint. And Freefall…

Freefall had Echo backed into a corner, and from the looks of it had manipulated the gravity around her to pin her down. She shrieked in frustration against her invisible bonds, fire in her blue eyes behind her black mask. Louis had a scrape across one cheek, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Harry let himself breathe a sigh of relief.

“Look out!” Niall’s voice called, and before Harry could make sense of what was happening the tornado of smoke sent Mist crashing into Echo, slamming them both against the brick wall hard enough to make Harry wince.

“Shit,” Louis cursed. Harry didn’t understand what was wrong, until Echo seemingly broke out of Freefall’s hold, snapping her arms straight out in front of her and sending a shockwave straight at him. It hit him hard enough to blow him backwards through the air, and Harry could only watch in horror as his boyfriend was thrown right over the edge of the roof to the pavement below.

Forgetting all about staying hidden, Harry burst out of his hiding place and ran to the edge of the roof, leaning over as far as he could to figure out Freefall’s fate. Sure, Louis could control gravity, but had he reacted in time? Or had he been too late, had he… Was he…

“Harry, get out of here!” Remix’s voice called, waving a hand at Harry and sending the black and white form of Rajah to his side. The living illustration placed itself between Harry and the melee, growling protectively.

Harry hardly noticed. His eyes frantically searched the sky, hoping to see Freefall hovering safely above the ground, and when that proved fruitless let his eyes drop down with a gasping sob. _Please let him be alive, please,_ Harry begged silently. _He has to be alive._

“Harry!”

The familiar voice had fresh tears pouring down Harry’s cheeks. He followed the sound and there was Freefall, clinging to a window ledge a storey down. His bloodied fingertips gripped tightly to the stone ledge, his eyes wide and fearful.

“Use your power,” Harry urged desperately. “Quick, before you fall!”

“I’m trying!” Freefall replied, looking panicked, grip slipping on the smooth surface. “She hit me too hard, I can’t focus!” He slipped further still, and Harry could hear Freefall’s boots scraping against the wall trying to hold himself up.

Harry could hear the blood rushing in his ears, could feel his stomach trying to crawl out of his throat. What if this was it? What if this was the last time he got to see Louis? What if he never got to kiss him again, or tell him he loved him, or—shit, or tell him about the baby. The battle behind him might have stopped or raged on; all Harry was concerned about was watching the love of his life cling to the side of a building for survival.

“Please,” Harry cried, reaching out his hand even though he knew it was too great a distance. “Please, keep trying.” It wasn’t fair; he’d only just gotten to have Louis in his life. He couldn’t lose him this soon.

“I am!” Louis yelled back, more afraid than Harry had ever heard him. He flung one hand out to the side, palm down, and for the briefest of moments Harry thought that it worked and that Louis would be back up beside him on the rooftop in no time.

But it didn’t. Harry would never forget the anguish in Louis’ eyes as his other hand lost its hold. Louis didn’t even scream, just stared at Harry with a look of horror and sorrow. Then, subject to the same laws of gravity as anyone else, he fell.  
 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Harry couldn’t remember getting down from the roof. He didn't know if he took the fire escape, or if someone carried him, or if he leapt over the bloody edge. Any new information was blocked out, the fear in Louis’ eyes as he fell remaining burned into Harry’s brain.

“Harry? Harry, I’m all right.”

That was Louis’ voice, but Harry thought he sounded so far away. “Louis?”

“Yeah, babe. Look at me.”

Harry blinked, and sure enough, there was Louis. He was gripping Harry’s shoulder, looking at him with a different sort of fear in his expression.

It came back to Harry in an instant, like his brain had been paused and had to fast forward to catch up. He had closed his eyes so tightly when Louis fell, so afraid to see him lying still and broken on the street below. But when he opened them, it was to Louis rising to meet him. His powers had worked in the nick of time, and he had carried Harry to safety.

“Where are we?” Harry asked, mouth dry around quaking words. They were no longer outside of the bank, but stood in an alleyway. Sirens and shouting still carried on the evening breeze, so they couldn’t have gone too far.

“A few blocks down,” Louis said, still a bit breathless from the fight and his near death experience. “I had to get you out of there, because next time my powers might not come back in time.”

Harry felt cold all over at that. If Louis’ powers hadn’t come back, he would have hit the ground. He could have been permanently injured, or even killed. If Louis was killed, he would never get to meet their baby. God, Harry would be left a single parent. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this at all, let alone by himself. He couldn’t blame Louis for being reckless; Louis was doing his job, what he was meant to do. He was putting his life on the line because he didn’t know he had something so, so important to put first. It was Harry’s fault, really, for not telling him. Harry clenched his fists at his sides, drawing in as deep a breath as his lungs could handle.

No more waiting. It was time.

“You have to start being more careful!” Harry shouted, not meaning to yell but unable to keep all his pent up emotion out of his voice. It was the release he’d denied himself since learning he was pregnant; it was the frustration at not being able to see his boyfriend whenever he wanted; it was the constant fear that the next fight would be the last; it was the fear that Louis wouldn’t want the baby.

Louis blinked at him, surprised at the outburst. “Harry, you know this is my job. We talked about this. I thought– I thought you knew what you were getting into.”

“I did!” Harry said, unbidden tears splashing hot down his cheeks. “I just don’t think you did!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Louis demanded, getting defensive in response. “I told you, this is who I am. This is what I’m meant to do.”

“Well it isn’t just about you anymore!” Harry exclaimed, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

There was a beat as Louis considered, narrowed his eyes at Harry and swept them down his body in confusion. His brow creased in puzzlement, his mouth opening around a silent question. Harry could tell the moment Louis got it, the way his jaw went slack and eyes flew open, the way he looked from Harry’s shielded stomach up to his tear-streaked face.

“Harry?” he asked timidly. It sounded so strange, hearing such a vulnerable voice coming out of Freefall’s façade. “You’re—”

“Yeah,” Harry said wetly, fresh tears, happier ones, spilling forth. “I’m pregnant.”

“Whoa!”

A voice from behind Harry had him spinning around, taking an instinctive step back toward Louis. He relaxed when he saw that, instead of an enemy, it was the other members of One Direction who had joined them in the alley, all looking a little worse for wear. His relief didn’t last long—he’d only just managed to tell Louis, and now Louis’ best mates and colleagues knew as well.

Niall, the one who’d spoken, was looking between Harry and Louis with unbridled excitement shining through the exhaustion in his eyes. Liam looked embarrassed to have intruded, and Zayn was lighting a smoke and pointedly looking anywhere but at Harry.

“Well, lads, I think that’s our cue to take off,” Liam said, giving Harry a warm smile before looking past him to Louis. “We’ll see you back at HQ, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis said hoarsely. “Yeah, see you.”

They took their leave, and Harry and Louis were alone with the weight of Harry’s admission. It felt like Louis had dialed the gravity up around them, and the very air itself was being pulled down on top of Harry. He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm; it wouldn’t do to pass out right now, and the lack of oxygen couldn’t be good for the baby.

“We should go somewhere,” Harry said, eyes fixed on a crack in the pavement. “Somewhere we can talk. Mine?”

“Yeah,” Louis echoed again, still looking shell-shocked. Harry couldn’t tell if Louis was good-stunned or bad-stunned, but he was dying for some sort of reaction. It could wait, though, until they were somewhere safer. Until Louis had tended his wounds and stripped away the guise of his alter ego.

They took a cab back to Harry’s, both of them too tired to walk and Louis not wanting to draw attention to them by using his abilities. They rode in silence, sitting at opposite ends of the seat, and Harry honestly thought he might be sick right there in the car. There were so many worries and fears and what-ifs running through his mind, the anxiety twisting his guts and making his chest ache. He needed to stay calm. He needed to avoid stress. Then again, telling his superhero boyfriend—with whom he’d never even discussed children—that he was pregnant wasn’t exactly the most relaxing thing he’d done, well, _ever._

Harry let them into his flat and immediately steered Louis to the bathroom for a hot shower. There were enough of Louis’ clothes mixed in with Harry’s things to last Louis several days, and Harry picked out his most comfortable joggers and an oversized shirt. He folded the clothes on the sink and left Louis to wash, deciding to make a cup of tea in the meantime.

It was as if the rest of the world was on pause while Harry focused on his task; it didn’t matter that super villains were terrorising the city or that Louis might never speak to him after today or that he nearly died. All he had to do was put the kettle on and set out a pair of mugs; it was all that mattered in that moment. Except the kettle building up steam sounded horribly like Halo’s energy rings, and the whistle sounded like Whisper’s awful shriek, and Harry hated them so much in that moment because Louis nearly _died._

He felt a wave of nausea and gripped the worktop to steady himself, accidentally upsetting one of the mugs in the process. It hit the floor in a spectacular explosion of ceramic, the shards littering the tile and the teabag poking mockingly out of the wreckage. Harry took a deep breath and fetched the dustpan, kneeling down to clean up the mess. He didn’t even realise he was crying until he felt a pair of warm hands on his biceps, gently coaxing him to stand.

Louis helped Harry to his feet and pried the dustpan from his hands. “I’ll get this,” he said. “You go and sit down.” Louis looked so tired then, hair still wet from the shower and clinging to his forehead, too-large clothing draped over his compact frame and clinging to the damp skin beneath. There were bruises peeking out from behind the fabric and the scrape across his cheek probably needed to be seen to, and still Harry had never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life.

It seemed like it took ages and no time at all for Louis to clean up the glass and finish the tea, and then he was lowering himself down onto the sofa and passing Harry a mug. It had ‘World’s Okayest Brother’ emblazoned on the side, a gift from Gemma when Harry moved to London, and Harry stared numbly at the cheerful font.

“So,” Louis said, staring at his own tea as if it might save him from the conversation they were about to have. “I guess we should talk.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed.

Louis sighed. “Look, Harry—”

“No,” Harry interrupted, setting his mug down on the coffee table abruptly enough to splash some tea over the rim and down the side. “Let me go first, please.” When Louis didn’t argue, Harry started talking. “I know that this isn’t what you wanted. I didn’t plan on it either, not yet, but it happened and I’m so scared, Lou. I don’t want you to think that you owe me anything, or that you have to like, be involved or whatever. I’ll even understand if you want to break up with me, because this isn’t what you signed up for.” He drew in a long, shaky breath, trying to lessen the tremble in his voice long enough to finish speaking.

“But please, please at least keep in contact with me, because your child deserves to know what an incredible person you are and I would never forgive myself if they didn’t get to because of me.” His voice cracked, and with it came a hot wave of tears. Louis just sat there, staring at his cooling tea, and Harry wanted so badly for him to scream or leave or laugh, to do _anything_ so Harry could know what to do next. “Say something, please,” Harry begged, desperate for Louis to give him some hint of his fate.

Louis placed his own cup next to Harry’s, gently enough to spare the liquid. He sat up straight and turned to look at Harry, face blank while his eyes looked like an oncoming storm. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing obviously under the sensitive skin of his throat, and then he started to speak. “When we started this, I told you it wasn’t a good idea. My life is dangerous; you saw that today. To bring another person into it was reckless, but a child? That’s just irresponsible.”

Harry couldn’t help the sob the tore from his mouth. He didn’t want to hear any more. “Louis, stop,” he begged, but Louis cut him off with wave of his hand.

“I wasn’t finished,” Louis said. He kept talking, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eyes any longer. “Harry, I have no idea how I’m supposed to be any kind of father when I barely feel like I’ve been a decent boyfriend. I don’t know how I’m supposed to throw myself into danger knowing that there’s someone waiting for me at home, someone who depends on me.” Harry heard him sigh, deep and heavy, and risked a glance up to see that the clouds in Louis’ eyes had broken and released a deluge of tears. “But I want it, Harry. I didn’t know I wanted it until you told me. If there’s even a chance we can make it work, then I want nothing more than to raise this baby with you.”

Harry’s next sob was one of relief as he threw himself into Louis’ arms. His knee knocked into the coffee table as he went, but that was a problem for later; right now nothing could dampen his mood, not even spilt tea, because Louis wanted this baby too.

They held each other and cried, Louis running a soothing hand down Harry’s back and pressing kisses into his curls. Eventually the sobs died down, replaced by sniffles and shaky breaths, and Louis’ whisper sounded thunderous in comparison. “How far along are you?”

Harry sat up, wiping at his wet face. “Ugh, sorry, I’m disgusting. Um, I think about nine weeks? I haven’t seen a doctor yet, I wanted to wait for you.”

He watched Louis mentally calculate the weeks, his eyebrows rising when he figured out the date. “Our first time? Seriously?” he asked, chuckling. “How does that even happen?”

Harry blushed crimson, biting at his lip. “Well, we were in a bit of a rush, if you’ll recall,” he said shyly. “And, um, I guess birth control isn’t one hundred per cent effective.”

“Oh my god,” Louis said, a mixture of a groan and a laugh. “I realised we forgot—later—but you didn’t say anything so I thought everything was fine.” He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “No, it _is_ fine. Everything will be just fine. We do need to get you to a doctor, though.”

“You’ll come with me?” Harry asked, tucking his face into the side of Louis’ neck and just breathing him in.

“Of course,” Louis replied, and Harry could feel the reassuring vibration of the words against his face. “Of course, love. For now, why don’t you come down to headquarters with me and let Liam take a look at you? Then afterwards we can go out and celebrate.”

Harry sighed, all his stress melted away at finally being able to share this with Louis. It seemed silly, now, that he had worried at all, because of course Louis wouldn’t leave Harry to raise a baby on his own. He felt guilty for even thinking it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin over Louis’ clavicle.

“Didn’t exactly make it easy for you, did I?” Louis said, returning a kiss to the crown of Harry’s head. “Come on, then, let change out of our snotty clothes and go properly tell the guys our news.”

Harry grinned as Louis helped him to his feet. “You’re going to have to get used to snotty clothes in the future,” Harry teased. “Your Freefall kit is going to see all kinds of exciting new fluids. You know, saving crime and changing nappies.”

“Ah, baby poo,” Louis said with a wince. “You’ve found me Kryptonite.”

He laughed, and Harry laughed, and for the first time in ages it felt like everything was well and truly okay.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

They were greeted at 1DHQ with cheers and a bottle of champagne. “Congratulations!” Niall hollered, doling out glasses of bubbly to everyone except Harry, whom he presented with a Coke. “None for you,” he said cheekily, before drinking straight from the champagne bottle.

Harry couldn’t stop smiling. The same thing that had seemed so terrifying only that morning was now being celebrated. He should never have worried about being alone, not when he had a literal army at his side.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad, mate,” Zayn was saying, clapping a hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“Me neither,” Louis said honestly, catching Harry’s eye and winking at him. “But I am. It’s a bit unreal still.”

“It’s brilliant,” Zayn corrected. “It gives the rest of us hope that for everything we’ve given up, maybe having a family doesn’t have to be one of them.”

“You’ll always have a family,” Liam promised, gently nudging Zayn with his hip. “You’ve got us.”

“Yeah!” Niall crowed, flinging himself at the pair. “You and Payno are the dads, and I’m the baby.”

Zayn made a face, pushing Niall off of him. “Except it’s a lot less cute when you spit up, mate,”

“But he does drink from a bottle and shit himself on occasion,” Louis pointed out, earning a rather rude gesture from Niall. The two of them ended up in a friendly scuffle, Niall getting Louis in a headlock and managing to spill champagne everywhere with Zayn giggling off to the side.

Harry was so busy laughing at the spectacle that he didn’t even notice Liam approaching him. “Want to slip away so I can take a look at you in private?” Liam asked, his eyes warm and voice soft. “Figured you’d be a little more comfortable without this lot breathing down your neck.”

“Erm, yeah, that would be great,” Harry replied gratefully, following Liam out of the lounge area and into a room set up like a doctor’s office. It was very clean and modern in shades of brown and stainless steel, and looked to have everything one might need to patch up a battle-tested superhero. As Liam led Harry to an exam table in the middle of the room, Harry couldn’t help but think that the room had probably never been used for this exact purpose before.

Liam gave Harry a gown and allowed him some privacy to change, then helped him up on the table. “I’m just going to give you a quick physical, all right? Then we’ll talk a little bit about your pregnancy.” He frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t have the equipment for a proper checkup or a sonogram, but we can take care of that at my office tomorrow if you like.”

“Please,” Harry said. “I’d really like that, thank you Liam.” He sat as still as he could while Liam checked his vitals, looked in his ears and eyes and nose and listened to his lungs. He gently laid Harry back on the table and felt his stomach, Liam’s palms warm and dry as they probed at Harry’s skin. Finally he helped Harry back up and took a seat in a nearby chair as he made a few notes on an iPad.

“Everything looks really good, Harry,” Liam said finally, setting the iPad aside and smiling at his patient. “You said you thought you were around nine weeks along?”

Harry flushed; Liam was smart enough to know that was around the time he and Louis started dating. “Yeah, I’m pretty certain,” he said.

Liam nodded. “I definitely want to get you a sonogram so I can take a look, but I think you’re starting off great. When do you want to come in tomorrow?”

The sound of the door opening had them both turning. “What’s tomorrow?” Louis asked, Niall close behind and Zayn bringing up the rear.

“Liam is going to do a sonogram for us,” Harry said, placing a hand on his stomach. He wasn’t showing yet, but it felt more firm than it usually did, like it was already protecting the precious life inside.

“Wicked,” Niall said with a grin. “We can come to that, right?”

Zayn whacked him on the back of the head. “I imagine that’s something the happy couple wants to do alone,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“But we can show you pictures,” Harry offered the crestfallen blond, grateful for Zayn’s insight.

That seemed to cheer Niall up. “Okay, cool,” he said. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but were you guys, you know… Trying?”

“Niall!” Louis squawked, but Harry just laughed it off. He’d grown rather fond of Niall and his knack for speaking freely.

“No, it’s a happy accident,” Harry said. “I’m on birth control and most of the time we were very careful.”

Niall nodded sagely. “Ah, super sperm. Good to know that’s a possibility.”

“You don’t have super sperm and neither do I,” Louis scoffed. “Besides, you’ve got to be having sex to get anyone pregnant, Nialler.”

As they broke into round two of their scuffle from before, Harry felt like his heart might burst from happiness. He never pictured, never even imagined anything close, but he couldn’t fathom being any happier than he was right then.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Liam’s office was a quaint little building, tucked away down a side street with cheerful curtains on the windows and a sign on the door that read ‘Payne’s Family Health Clinic.’ The waiting area was done in bright colours with a play area in one corner, and Harry tried to imagine bringing a toddler here for checkups. Would Liam agree to be their child’s doctor? Harry certainly hoped so.

A receptionist sat behind a tall desk, the day’s stack of patient files in front of her. She beamed when Harry and Louis walked up to her, quickly thumbing through the stack and pulling out a file much thinner than the rest. “You must be Harry, right? Dr. Payne is waiting for you; you can go right in.” Bridget, her nametag said.

Harry took Louis’ hand and pulled him in the direction Bridget had pointed. They passed one, two, three empty exam rooms, and in the fourth Liam was waiting for them. He looked the same as he did out of his Mismatch getup, though now he had a white coat on top of his clothing. He was fiddling with a large white piece of equipment, but looked up with a smile when Harry and Louis stopped in the doorway. “Hey, lads.”

“Hey, Liam,” Harry greeted. “Er, should I call you Doctor?”

Liam laughed and flapped his hand. “Liam is fine. Come on in, I’m almost ready for you.”

Harry gave Louis’ hand a final squeeze before climbing up on the exam table. Louis waved away Liam’s offer of a chair, instead hovering to one side of the table within Harry’s reach.

“Have you ever had a sonogram before, Harry?” Liam asked, and continued when Harry shook his head. “It won’t hurt at all, and it will give us an idea of your due date.” He passed Harry a hospital gown, this one patterned with little ice cream cones. “I’ll be right back, and then we’ll take a look at your baby.”

It took Harry a moment to realise that, right, he should be changing. He was too caught up in how lovely those words had sounded. _Your baby._ It had gone from being something he was afraid to talk about to being the source of so much joy. “I can’t believe we’re going to get to see it,” Harry mused, slipping the gown on. It wasn’t scratchy like the ones he was used to. Like everything else Liam did, there seemed to have been a great deal of care that went into selecting it.

“Are you excited, Lou?” He was answered with silence. “Louis?” he asked, clutching the gown closed with one hand as he turned around.

Louis had sunk into one of the spare chairs. His face was hidden in his hands and his shoulders were shaking with quiet sobs.

“Louis?” Harry asked tentatively, heart dropping into his stomach. He wondered if Liam would be able to see that on the sonogram. “Louis, what’s wrong?”

There were a few quiet sniffles before Louis raised his wet face, the red around his eyes making them more blue than ever. He’d been crying, true, but he was also bearing the widest, proudest smile Harry had ever seen on another person.

“I’m going to be a dad,” Louis said, reaching out and taking Harry’s hands in his tear-dampened ones. _“We’re_ going to be dads.”

Harry couldn’t help his own eyes growing wet at the sheer joy in Louis’ quavering voice. “We are,” Harry agreed, bringing Louis’ hands to his lips and peppering them with kisses. “There’s no one in the world I’d rather do this with.”

The words seemed to hit Louis like a shockwave, turning him an uncharacteristic shade of pink. He looked like he was trying to decide whether to speak or kiss Harry senseless, but was spared the choice by Liam knocking at the door.

“All right?” Liam called, peeking inside to make sure Harry was ready. “Good. Let’s see what Harry here has been cooking.”

It was a bit strange, at first, having his lower half examined by someone he knew outside of being a doctor, but Liam was nothing if not professional. He talked Harry through each step of the process, explaining his every move, and then it was time for the actual scan.

“Let’s try an external one first,” Liam suggested. “If we can’t see the baby that way, we can always do an internal.”

As he laid back on the table, gown open and the waistband of his pants rolled down past his belly, Harry really hoped the external scan would work. He didn’t know if he could look Liam in the eyes after the second option. The gel was cold and slimy against his belly, and Harry wondered if the baby could feel it too.

Liam moved the transponder around, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the monitor, and then his face lit up. “There we are,” he said softly. “Take a look at your baby, lads.”

He turned the screen so they could get a better look, and at first Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be seeing. Then, once he saw it, he couldn’t look anywhere else. The baby was very small, surrounded by sea of black, and it was wiggling around much more than Harry had imagined. He certainly didn’t feel any of what looked to be a dance party in his stomach.

“Wow,” Harry heard Louis whisper beside him. Harry was too shocked to say anything, his eyes laser focused on the life inside of him.

“I’d say you’re right on track for nine weeks,” Liam agreed, taking a few measurements of the baby. “And everything looks really good, lads. Congratulations.”

Louis slipped his hand into Harry’s, and only then did Harry tear his eyes from the screen to look at his boyfriend. Louis’ eyes were wide and wet, his lips pressed into a tight line as if to keep himself from crying harder. He smiled wider when he saw Harry looking, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over Harry’s skin. “I love you.”

The words sent warm tendrils through Harry’s body with the sheer sincerity in Louis’ voice. “I love you too,” he whispered back.

There was a soft sound, and Harry looked away from Louis to see Liam awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said shyly, “but I’m printing some photos for you. You can clean up and get dressed and I’ll be right back.” He handed Harry some towels before slipping out of the exam room.

Louis watched him go, chuckling. “Reckon Liam thinks we’re going to try and make another baby on his table,” he said. It was meant as a joke, but something hot flared in Harry’s gut nonetheless.

“I’d rather wait for a bed,” Harry remarked casually, sitting up to wipe the gel off his belly and roll his pants back up. He chanced a glance at Louis, who was staring at him hungrily. “Just, a bit more comfy, that’s all.”

Louis grabbed Harry’s pile of clothes and shoved them into Harry’s arms. “Get dressed.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of what you want?” Harry teased, shedding the gown and reaching for his t-shirt.

“Yes, but I respect Liam enough not to drag you half-naked through his clinic.”

“Fair point.”

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Everything changed, after that. Louis started spending more nights at Harry’s, slowly bringing over more and more things until he had his own drawer in the dresser and half of the closet space. Sometimes he was waiting when Harry got off work with pyjamas and a cuppa; others he dragged himself in past midnight covered in fresh scrapes and bruises. Still, he came home to Harry, and that’s what mattered most.

Harry’s body was changing too. As the weeks went by, he watched his stomach grow more and more round. Loose tops could only hide his pregnancy for so long, and now, at five months, the bump was quite noticeable on Harry’s slender frame.

“Know what you’re having yet?” Bebe asked when Harry got in that morning, settling down into his desk chair with a soft groan.

“Back pain, gas, bizarre cravings,” Harry ticked off on his fingers, raising a wry eyebrow.

She rolled her heavily made-up brown eyes. “You know what I meant, you arse.”

“I did,” Harry conceded, pulling the papers out of his inbox to sort through. His newest article had been returned with only a few edits from Nick, and Harry couldn’t help but feel proud of how far he’d come since he started there. “And yes, we know, but we’re keeping it a secret.”

Bebe blinked, cocking her head so that her bangs flopped over one eye. “Why? Don’t you want people to like, get you clothing and stuff? How will they know what to buy?”

“There’s plenty of gender neutral clothes,” Harry said, thinking of the pale green onesie Louis had brought home the night before. _“It was just staring at me all day during my shift,”_ Louis had said, excitedly presenting Harry with the outfit. _“It reminds me of your eyes. I really want the baby to have your eyes.”_

Harry blushed at that, picturing what had followed. _“If it doesn’t, we’ll just keep trying,”_ Harry had murmured, setting the outfit aside. _“We can start right now, just in case.”_

“Anyway,” Harry said, willing himself to stop thinking about the way Louis had taken him apart last night because his trousers were tight enough already. “It’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it? To be born and immediately dressed in sports clothing or princess dresses. To immediately be labeled as a big, strong lad or a sweet, precious girl. I don’t want to do that.”

Bebe looked at him, considering. “You’re going to be such a good dad, Harry,” she said, giving him a warm smile. He was relieved, in a way—not everyone was quite so understanding. At least Louis was, listening to Harry’s wishes and responding with a smile and ‘whatever you want, love.’ If Harry was going to be a good dad, Louis was going to be an incredible one.

“I hope so,” he said, running a hand over his belly. “I really do.”

When Harry got home that night, a strong odour permeated the flat. He wrinkled his nose as he kicked off his shoes and set his bag down in the chair closest to the door. “Lou? What’s that smell?”

Louis came skidding into the lounge, an excited smile on his face and a streak of green on one cheek. “Babe, hi,” he breathed, pulling Harry into his arms and pressing a noisy kiss to his ear. “I’ve a surprise for you.” He tugged Harry down the hall by his wrist, practically skipping with glee.

“What is it?” Harry laughed, pulling his wrist away and catching Louis’ hand with his own instead. There were smudges of colour on nearly every finger. “What have you done?”

Louis turned abruptly at the second bedroom, blocking off the doorway with his body. “I hope you like it,” he said, before reaching inside and flicking on the light. Harry inhaled sharply at the sight of it, something he instantly regretted thanks to the fumes.

What once was Harry’s spare room, a bit of a catchall for boxes he hadn’t bothered unpacking and things he didn’t have a place for but couldn’t throw away, was now painted a lovely shade of grey. One wall, the one opposite the door, was done in a pastel green, the same colour as the smear on Louis’ cheek. Against the green wall sat a beautiful black crib and a matching changing table, and above it were the framed prints that Harry’s mum had sent as a gift, black and white photos of baby toys that Gemma had taken. On the dresser in a silver frame was the first sonogram, and in the corner was a charcoal grey recliner with a green and grey blanket folded over the arm.

“What do you think?” Louis asked, a nervous edge to his voice. “I should have asked first, but I wanted it to be a surprise, and—”

“It’s perfect,” Harry whispered, turning to look at Louis with teary eyes. Crying was nothing new, thanks to the ever-changing hormones in his body, but these were happy tears. “Louis, did you do all this yourself?”

“I had some help. The lads came over while you were at work,” Louis admitted, reaching up to straighten a photo next to the door. Harry would recognise it anywhere: the view from the hill where they had their first date. It was clear how much thought had gone into creating the special space, every last detail something personal to them. Louis had even sorted out the clothing they’d been collecting, each outfit hung on tiny hangers in the closet and separated by size. It was a room Harry could easily envision putting their baby to sleep in. He could already see himself cuddled up in the recliner, a little bundle in his arms, singing the same songs his mother used to sing to him.

“I love it,” Harry choked out, throat thick with emotion. “I love you.” He turned and buried himself in Louis’ arms, pressing his face into Louis’ neck. He was a bit taller than Louis, but the way Louis held him like something made of glass let him feel like the smaller of the two. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, love. I wanted to paint while you were gone so the smell wasn’t too bad.”

It was just so thoughtful, all of it, and Harry was crying all over again. “We’re still probably sleeping with the windows open,” he said wetly, using Louis’ shirt to dab at his eyes.

“Gotta be careful with that,” Louis teased. “Never know what kind of bloke might float up and let themselves into an open window.”

“The best kind, if you’re anything to go by,” Harry replied, squeezing Louis tighter.

They stood like that, holding each other close, until Louis caught Harry falling asleep standing up and gently coaxed him back out into the hallway. “C’mon, love, let’s get you to bed,” Louis said, his voice a gentle rasp in the otherwise quiet flat.

Harry stole one more glance at the room over his shoulder before Louis turned out the light. Four more months, give or take, and they would be putting it to use. The idea wasn’t quite as terrifying for Harry as it used to be.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

Crime, Harry discovered, didn’t care if you were trying to prepare for a new baby.

The last of the warm months were slipping away, and already the nights brought with them the promise of oncoming winter. It seemed like every villain in England was making use of the weather while it lasted, leaving Louis tired and sore most days. Still never too tired to rub Harry’s aching back or press his face close to Harry’s growing belly, but there were dark circles under his blue eyes and a hollow to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before.

“It’s good practice for the baby,” Louis would joke. “We’re going to be tired a lot.” Harry didn’t think it was funny; he was certain caring for a baby was a lot less dangerous than stopping someone trying to blow up a section of the tube.

Harry had promised, though, that he understood the risks of who Louis was, and there was no way he would ever ask Louis not to protect innocent people. It was selfish, he reasoned, to keep Louis all to himself when the public needed Freefall.

Being pregnant and tired, Harry also didn’t respond every time the unknown number texted him an address. Once a week at least he’d go and get a good story, but the rest of the time he’d stay in the safety of the newsroom. It was one thing when it was only his life on the line, but Harry would never forgive himself if he endangered the baby. He still had a job to do, sure, but he could balance the two enough to get by.

“I wish you wouldn’t come,” Louis murmured as they cuddled in bed together the night after the most recent attack. He was curved around Harry from behind, an arm draped around the swell of Harry’s belly. They were able to feel kicks now, insistent and strong, and Louis never tired of letting the little one kick at his palm. “I wouldn’t be able to stand it if anything happened to you.”

“You keep texting me the locations,” Harry replied sleepily, reaching down to tangle his fingers with Louis’.

Louis squeezed back, shifting to press a kiss to the spot behind Harry’s ear. “Because I would never deny you the right to choose. It will always be up to you, love.”

Harry didn’t say anything, just leaned back into his partner’s embrace. It was getting harder to move around, and he knew stress wasn’t good for the baby, but he had worked too hard to jeopardise his career. He had to have something to return to after he had the baby, and starting back at the bottom wasn’t ideal.

That’s exactly what was going to happen, though, judging by the conversation Harry had with Nick the following morning.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Nick said, shaking his head as Harry stepped into his office. “Have a seat, then.”

Harry slowly lowered his body down in the seat opposite Nick’s desk. Nick had some papers spread out in front of him on the glossy wood, and they looked suspiciously like printed copies of Harry’s last couple of articles.

Nick leaned forward, the papers wrinkling under his forearms. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to bare tanned skin. “I know you’ve got a lot going on lately, what with…” He gestured awkwardly at Harry’s belly, not at all hidden beneath the drape of his floral paternity shirt. “… _That,_ and all, but I’m a bit disappointed in the quality of your work lately.” He held up one of the articles. “Why am I reading about a stolen motorbike being returned instead of the thwarted bank robbery that happened the next day?” He arched a manicured brow. “I had to read about that in the _Observer._ ”

Harry frowned. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think I’m in any condition to be showing up at bank robberies.” He smoothed a hand over his stomach. As if in support, the baby kicked at his palm. “The motorbike was a safer story.”

Nick sighed, tossing the papers back onto the pile. “I understand that, but safe doesn’t sell papers. If you want to keep your fancy new position, you’re going to have to sort something out. Otherwise, well, I assume you recall my coffee order?”

Heat flared through Harry’s body as his anger swelled. “Yes, sir,” he ground out.

“Good,” Nick said with a nod. “Take the rest of the day off. I want a solution by Monday. If you aren’t willing to write these stories, perhaps you might be willing to give up the name of your informant.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Now go on. I have to see if any of these are suitable for tomorrow’s paper.”

Harry was out the door before Nick even finished speaking. He hurriedly grabbed his jacket and his bag, stuffing a few files into it carelessly.

“Whoa, what’s got into you? Pregnancy hormones?” Bebe asked, watching Harry from her desk.

“Nick’s such a prick,” Harry growled, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’m not going to risk my child’s life for an article.”

Bebe’s eyes widened. “He asked you to do that?” She glared at Nick’s office door. “Guess someone’s getting a surprise in their coffee tomorrow.”

That made Harry stop his rampage long enough to laugh. “Oh my God,” he said, shooting his colleague a grin. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

Bebe shrugged, an impish smile toying at purple-glossed lips. “Guess we’ll see.”

Harry was still seething when he got home from work. He didn’t care that the front door slammed behind him, or that his shoes made two loud _thunks_ against the wall as he kicked them off.

“What the hell?” Louis came skidding out of their bedroom with a wild look in his eyes. His torso was bare aside from scars and tattoos, and the joggers barely clinging to his hips hung low enough to show a smattering of dark hair.

 _Shit._ Harry had forgotten that it was Louis’ day off at the shop. He had become so used to Louis having to run off to be Freefall that he didn’t expect him to actually be home. “Rough day,” Harry explained, setting his bag down with more care than he’d shown his footwear. “My boss is a wanker.”

Louis’ eyes softened, his posture changing from a defensive one to something more fluid. “Why don’t you go get comfortable while I make some tea, and you can tell me all about it.” He didn’t even wait for a response, just kissed Harry on the cheek on his way to the kitchen.

Already feeling better just from a couple minutes with his boyfriend, Harry headed for the bedroom in search of some pyjamas. If he was going to have an unexpected three-day weekend, he might as well get it started now.

Not all of his pyjama bottoms fit anymore, but his favourite pair still did. They’d been washed a hundred times, soft and thin, and were baggy enough normally to fit now. He pulled them on and climbed into bed, shedding the frustrations of the day with his jeans and jumper and relaxing into the thick mattress.

That’s how Louis found him, snuggled into the duvet and propped up on the pillows. “You look comfy,” Louis remarked, passing Harry a steaming mug of tea. He set his own down on the bedside table and crawled in next to Harry.

“I’m trying. This little one doesn’t always make it very easy.” He rested the teacup on the swell of his bump. “Good place to set things, though.”

Louis chuckled, rolling onto his side and stroking the part of Harry’s belly currently not acting as a mug rest. “Fair enough. So do you want to tell me what happened today?”

Harry hadn’t forgotten, not really, but the cosy little bubble of _home_ and _Louis_ had done a lot to lessen his anger. He knew that Louis wouldn’t be so quick to forgive, though. As protective as he was of perfect strangers, Harry knew it was multiplied by a thousand for his family. _Which includes me,_ he thought, a warmth spreading through his body that had nothing to do with the tea.

“My boss isn’t happy with me for missing One Direction showdowns,” Harry said, eyes down as he rubbed his thumb over an imperfection in the mug. “He doesn’t think my _condition_ is a reason to miss an exclusive. If I don’t keep doing them, I’m going to get a demotion.”

“Well,” Louis said slowly, and Harry could feel the fury in his voice. “You’ll already be on the scene for the next one. ‘Freefall kicks local editor’s sorry arse.’ That’s _illegal,_ Harry. He can’t put you at risk like that.”

Harry sighed. He abandoned his tea on the bedside table so he could cuddle up to Louis. “As much as I like that idea, I think it would probably blow your cover. Please don’t make a fuss, I’ll figure something out.”

Louis kissed Harry’s forehead, pulling him in close. “Well, there you go. Two scoops in one.” He ran a hand down Harry’s back, finding the tight muscles at the base of his spine and kneading them gently with his fingers. “I’m still not happy about it, but I have an idea that might keep you out of danger and keep you boss pleased as well.”

“Hmm?” Harry prompted, lost in the sensation of Louis massaging his lower back.

“What if I give you a full report when I get home? I can probably manage photos too, even if it’s just of the lads after the action.”

Harry sat up, eyes wide. “Louis, that’s brilliant! Except, I mean, I don’t think I’d feel comfortable with you doing my job for me.”

“You’d still be writing the articles,” Louis said. “I’ll just give you the full report, that’s all. You can interview me if that would work better.” He brushed a stray curl away from Harry’s face. “And it won’t be forever, right? Just a few more months.”

Harry flung his arms around Louis’ neck, pressing as close as his belly would allow and smothering Louis in kisses. “You’re strong, and sexy, _and_ brilliant,” he praised, placing the final kiss on Louis’ smiling lips.

“Ooh, what was the middle one again?” Louis asked, wrapping Harry up in his arms and pulling Harry on top of him.

“Strong?”

“No, not that one.”

“Brilliant?”

“’S not it either. Started with an ‘s”?”

Harry pretended to think hard about it. “Sexy? Did I say sexy?”

“That’s the one,” Louis replied, his voice low. His hand slid down Harry’s back to rest at his hips. “Though I think you might be thinking of yourself.”

“No, definitely thinking of you,” Harry replied, shifting so that Louis could feel the interest his body was taking in their position. It worked, Louis’ eyes darkening and his hips rising to meet Harry’s. Louis’ body was responding as well, his cock fattening up between them, not at all concealed by the fabric of Louis’ joggers. Harry moved his legs to either side of Louis’ body and sat up so he was straddling Louis, his palms braced on Louis’ smooth chest and bum resting over the swell of his cock.

“You’re so beautiful,” Louis whispered reverently, bringing his hands around to cup Harry’s bare belly.

“Even all fat and covered in stretch marks?” Harry asked sheepishly, suddenly feeling very exposed. He tried to take his hands away to cover his belly but Louis grabbed his wrists, keeping Harry’s hands on his chest.

“Especially like this,” Louis replied, giving a lazy roll of his hips that had Harry whimpering with want. “You feel what you do to me? I love seeing you like this, knowing that you’re carrying my baby.”

“Louis, please,” Harry begged, unable to take the molten heat in Louis’ voice anymore, the unfettered desire darkening Louis’ blue eyes.

Louis wasted no time coaxing Harry to sit up enough that he could remove his joggers, and with a bit of uncoordinated teamwork they managed to free Harry of his as well. Harry quickly reclaimed his perch, settling himself down over Louis’ cock and moaning with want.

“Like this, baby?” Louis asked, running his hands along Harry’s thighs. “Want you to be comfortable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry insisted, already rocking down on Louis’ length. “Wanna ride you.” He watched impatiently as Louis reached for the lube, but the first slick finger inside him felt like scratching an impossible itch.

“God, look at you,” Louis marveled, working Harry open far more slowly that the pregnant man wanted. “You could come just like this, couldn’t you? Just riding my fingers?”

“Want your cock,” Harry insisted, not caring how desperate he sounded. He was desperate; he felt like if he didn’t have Louis inside him _right now_ then he might explode.

“Okay baby,” Louis said soothingly, pulling out his fingers and reaching for the lube once more. Harry lifted his bum so that Louis could line up, then slowly lowered himself down until he was seated on Louis’ erection. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the feeling of finally, finally being full. Harry only took a moment to adjust before he was raising up only to drop back down, the slide of Louis’ bare cock inside of him already sending coils of heating shooting up his spine.

“Fuck,” Harry gasped when Louis took control, grasping Harry’s hips and thrusting up into him. It was just the right angle, the right depth, and lights exploded behind Harry’s eyes. “Fuck, Louis, like that.” He let himself fall forward and felt Louis’ strong arms wrap around his back, holding Harry close as he fucked up into him.

“Beautiful,” Louis was whispering between thrusts, breathless and grunting from the exertion. “So, so beautiful. God, Harry.” He pulled Harry’s pelvis down on his next thrust.

“You’re gonna make me come,” Harry sobbed, unable to physically process how good he felt. Sex with Louis was always incredible, but this time was something else entirely. It was as if he could feel Louis inside every part of him—his body and his mind and his heart—and maybe it was love or destiny or something like that, but it felt like forever. Harry let go.

Louis’ nails dug into Harry’s skin and then there was warmth filling him as Louis hit his peak soon after. He stayed buried in deep, pulsing steadily as he came, and Harry could feel Louis’ heart racing beneath the damp skin of his trembling chest. Harry let gravity take hold as he collapsed down onto the thrumming body beneath him, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I love you so much,” he choked out, hiding his face in Louis’ neck.

“I love you too, babe,” Louis said, his voice hoarse and shaking. He pressed a kiss against Harry’s sweaty temple. “And I’m never, ever going to let anything happen to you.”

They fell asleep like that, damp and sticky and wrapped around one another like strands of a rope, and Harry could barely remember why he was upset in the first place.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

As it turned out, Louis’ idea worked brilliantly. He would come home in the evenings, lick his wounds and shed the blue and silver ensemble, and let Harry drill him for details. Louis had a way of speaking that brought Harry right into the action, and combined with what he’d witnessed over the last several months allowed him to piece together articles at least as dynamic as if he’d been there—perhaps even more so.

“Nice work, Styles,” Nick mumbled grudgingly, slapping the latest edition of the paper down on Harry’s desk. Harry’s latest article was right on the front page, One Direction’s bruised and dirty faces smiling up from the group selfie Louis had provided Harry with. There was a plume of smoke still rising in the background of the photo, but the four boys looked like they were any other group of friends taking a picture together. Harry smiled right back at their printed faces before tucking the paper into his bag.

“Thanks, Nick,” Harry said, offering his boss a polite smile. Nick was far from forgiven, but Harry was willing to do what it took to make work as pleasant as possible. He really didn’t need any additional stress.

Nick only grunted in reply before trudging to his office and shutting the door. “What’s his problem?” Harry asked, one eyebrow cocked. “He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.”

“That’s the look of a man who’s only been drinking decaf for a week,” Bebe announced innocently, taking a demonstrative sip of her presumably caffeinated coffee.

Harry gaped at her, a chuckle rising from his chest. “You’re evil,” he said, sounding more impressed than surprised.

“Good,” Bebe replied primly, tapping her electric blue nails against her travel mug. “Maybe Makeshift will come give me a seeing-to.”

With his job back on track, Harry was able to spend more time focusing on the baby. His last trimester seemed to arrive out of nowhere, and in just a couple months he was going to be a father. There seemed to be so much to do—did they have enough clothing? Nappies? How soon should Harry pack a hospital bag? They hadn’t even decided on a name yet.

These were the things on Harry’s mind as he walked home from work. There was a shop not too far out of his way that sold baby items, and he thought he’d pop in and take a look around. His mum was dying to throw him a baby shower, but Harry wanted to wait to get everyone together until after the baby was born. They could get anything he still needed then, and get to meet the new arrival all at the same time. Hell, Harry hadn’t even met Louis’ family yet, though he had talked to his very tearful mother on the phone when Louis broke the news to her. A post-birth baby shower seemed like the perfect way to unite their families for the first time and also introduce Baby Tomlinson-Styles to the world.

The days were starting to get colder, and a nip in the air had Harry tucking his chin down to keep his face out of the wind. It’s the reason he noticed the red and grey scarf fluttering to the ground in front of him, its owner turning the corner without noticing.

“Excuse me!” Harry called after the person, a petite woman with long, wavy brown hair. He bent to retrieve the scarf, his belly making the task harder than it once was. He hurried after the woman, scarf in hand. “Excuse me, miss, I think you dropped this!”

The woman turned around, looking every bit like she knew how to take care of strange men calling after her. The hard look in her eyes softened when she saw the scarf. “I didn’t even notice! Thank you,” she said sincerely, winding it back around the collar of her grey wool coat. She smiled at Harry with catlike eyes, toying with a strand of hair in a way that emphasised the honey-coloured highlights. She looked oddly familiar, though for the life of him Harry couldn’t place how he knew her.

“You’re welcome.”

Her eyes fell to Harry’s protruding stomach. “When are you due?” she asked.

Harry rubbed a hand over his belly, his coat barely fastened over the swell. “November, about eight more weeks,” he said, grinning brightly. She smiled right back, looking almost feline, and Harry couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity. “I’m sorry, have we met before? I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

She chuckled, flipping her hair over her shoulder and holding out a hand for Harry to shake. “We haven’t, no. Jade.”

“Harry. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Jade’s dark painted lips twisted as she dropped Harry’s hand. “I must say, it was rather rude that no one bothered to introduce us, but I’ve come to expect that from the sort you run with.” She tilted her head, the once-pleasant smile turned wicked. “How is Freefall, anyway?”

An icy trickle worked its way down Harry’s spine, goosebumps erupting on his skin that had nothing to do with the weather. “Excuse me?” he asked quietly, certain he didn’t hear correctly.

“I’m surprised he lets you wander about on your own,” Jade carried on. “Never know what might happen on these streets nowadays.” Her eyes flicked over Harry’s shoulder, and the world went before he could even turn around.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

His wrists were tied. That was the first thing Harry noticed. Not with rope, but with a golden band of energy. He had seen rings like that before. Where…?

The pounding in his head grew worse when he tried to take a look around. He was in a sparsely furnished room with boarded up windows, a bank of computers against the far wall. There were a few other chairs, all mismatched, and a refrigerator humming loudly in the corner. Harry let his head drop back down, the fluorescent light above too much for his aching head, and noticed that another set of gold rings bound his ankles to the chair legs. He remembered a woman wielding similar rings, seemingly pulling them from thin air.

Halo.

It all came together in his mind, handing a scarf to a short woman. He pictured her in black, face partially obscured by a mask, and there was no doubting where he met her before. Jade, if that was her real name, was none other than Halo from Little Mix. He’d been set up, and now they had him.

“Oi, he’s awake!” a voice called, and one by one four women filed into the room. He knew them instantly for who they were, even without their trademark outfits. Little Mix.

“How are you feeling, love?” the blonde asked, stepping around Harry to peer at the back of his head. “Didn’t hit you too hard, did we? Jesy gets a little carried away.”

“Hey,” snapped one of the others, presumably Jesy. Harry knew her better as Mist. “I just did what we were supposed to do, didn’t I? Wasn’t exactly going to invite him over for tea.”

There was a slam from the refrigerator door as a woman with a mane of black hair retrieved a water bottle. “Knock it off, both of you. We need to stay focused.” She walked over to Harry and, to his surprise, held the bottle up to his lips. “Come on, then, can’t have you getting dehydrated on us. Not good for the baby.”

Harry glared from the bottle up to the woman holding it. “What do you care about my baby?”

Jade rolled her eyes. “Look, we’re not monsters. Nothing is going to happen to you or your baby. Leigh-Anne’s right, you need to drink a little bit.”

“It’s not poison,” the blonde, Echo, promised. “You aren’t the target here. We just need to…” she thought for a moment, pondering the right word. “We just need to borrow you for a bit. When we get what we want, you’ll be on your way.”

“Freefall,” Harry said bitterly. “You’re using me to get to him.”

Jesy nodded. “And the rest of One Direction, but him for starters. The other three are nothing without their little ringleader.”

“But why me?” Harry asked, still turning his head away from the water bottle. “How do you know he’ll even come for me?”

Leigh-Anne scoffed, capping the bottle and setting it on a table close to Harry’s chair. “Not that hard, was it? If One Direction was there, so was their little sidekick. Then incredibly detailed articles by a Harry Styles started coming out. Wasn’t hard to figure out you were connected.”

“And we’re not blind,” Jade added. “It was clear that Freefall was protecting you. When you turned up pregnant, we put two and two together.” She pointed an accusatory finger at Harry’s stomach. “That’s Freefall’s baby, and nothing in the world would stop him from trying to protect it.”

Harry set his jaw, staring down the woman he thought was so kind on the street. “You’re right. Nothing is going to stop him. You’ve set yourselves up for failure.”

“Not quite, darling,” Echo said. “He’s going to try, but he won’t succeed. Not this time.” She smiled, her blue eyes glinting ominously. “People make very poor decisions when they’re emotionally compromised.”

“That’s enough, Perrie,” Jesy said, crossing her arms. “We don’t owe him an explanation. We need to be ready for when Freefall does come.”

Echo—Perrie—nodded. “You’re right. I’m sure he’s gotten our little note by now.” She smiled down at Harry. “Try and relax. You won’t be here much longer, and hopefully we’ll never cross paths again.”

They started to leave through the same doorway they entered from, and Harry felt bile rise in his throat as he watched them go. Louis was going to walk right into a trap and there was nothing he could do about it. “I know your names and faces!” Harry yelled after them, hoping to distract them until Louis could show up and catch them off guard. “I know who you really are. I’ll put it in the paper. Everyone will know.”

Perrie stopped, turning to fix Harry with a chilling glare. “We know your name too, love. As well as where you work and live. We don’t let someone go twice.” With that, she followed the rest of Little Mix out of the room, and Harry was alone.

They trickled in one by one over the next hour. Sometimes to check on Harry, others to glance at the surveillance footage playing on one of the monitors glowing softly across the room. Each tried to get him to eat and drink, but he refused every time despite the hunger starting to gnaw at his gut.

There was a scrape of metal against the floorboards as a chair was pulled over to face Harry. He glanced up to see Jade sitting across from him, dressed now in her Halo suit, looking rather unimpressed by him.

“What?” he asked, scowling right back at her. “You can’t kidnap me and expect me to be compliant.”

“I can expect you not to be a bloody idiot,” she said. She reached for him, and Harry recoiled but not fast enough. He didn’t know if she had a knife, and he closed his eyes waiting for the blow to come.

It never did. Instead there was a hum and Harry opened his eyes in time to see the ring binding his wrists dissolve away. “I’m not untying your legs,” Jade said, passing Harry the water bottle now that he could take it himself. “But maybe you’ll trust me a little more this way.”

Harry did take the water bottle, though he didn’t drink from it right away. This could all be another act, a way to lull him into a false sense of security before dealing the killing blow. “And why should I trust you?”

Jade sighed, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in the chair. “Because we aren’t bad people. We’re just caught in a shit situation and trying to make the best of it.”

“Robbing banks and kidnappings are making the best of it?”

“Yeah, it sounds awful when you put it that way,” Jade mused. She clasped her hands together in front of her, the fingers of her left hand toying with a ring on her right. It appeared to be made of energy, perhaps the source of the bands she was able to conjure. “Look, imagine that you’re so far in debt you can’t even begin to see a way out. Imagine you’re homeless, or you have loans that need repaid, or medical bills. Imagine someone comes along and offers to pay everything off, give you a fresh start. Would you take it?”

Harry blinked. Her voice sounded sad and sincere, a level of earnestness he hadn’t expected from his captors. “I– I’m not sure. What’s the catch?”

She laughed bitterly. “No catch, he said, just come to work for him until the debt was paid. With interest, of course. Hence the robberies.” She looked up at Harry with brown eyes that suddenly seemed exhausted. “The sooner we pay him off, the sooner we can be free.”

Realisation washed over Harry. “That’s why you need to stop One Direction,” he murmured. “You need to pay off your debt. But can’t you explain it to them? They would help you, I know it.”

Jade shook her head. “All our boss cares about is money, and unless they have a vault somewhere, I don’t think there’s much they can do to help. Besides, do you really think they’d believe us?”

“I believe you,” Harry said, surprising himself with his response. “There has to be something they can do. This doesn’t have to end in violence.”

She smiled at him, this time with pity. “You’re a nice lad, Harry. I’m sorry you had to get caught up in all this.” She stood to go, sparing him one last glance on her way. “Drink your water.”

Harry stared after her. To think, all this time the women terrorising London’s banks were only trying to free themselves. The faceless coward behind their antics used them like pawns to do his bidding. What kind of monster would take advantage of four women at their lowest points and turn them into villains? Harry had to find out, and when he did, he knew Louis and the lads would put an end to it once and for all.

That is, if they both got out of this alive. Louis could show up at any moment, and Harry could only hope he knew what he was walking into.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

It was dark when Harry next opened his eyes. Well, a given value of dark—light still spilled in from the corridor and the computers in the corner still glowed. There didn’t seem to be any sunlight peeking through the boards over the windows. His wrists were bound behind him once more, shoulders stiff from the uncomfortable angle.

Harry tried to look around but stopped quickly, wincing. There was a crick in his neck from falling asleep in the chair, and he desperately wished he had a hand free to rub the tight muscle. How long had he been here, now? There was no way of telling how long he’d been unconscious before, how long he slept just now. Had it been hours? Or days?

It can’t have been days; Louis would never leave Harry somewhere that long. Harry was surprised Louis hadn’t come sooner, but surely there was a reason. He was sat somewhere with Liam, Niall, and Zayn, coming up with a plan to rescue Harry. Or, shit, Louis had already tried and failed. He shuddered at the thought, unable to lend it too much of his imagination. Louis wouldn’t fail. He _couldn’t._

There was a soft scratching sound at the window to Harry’s left, and— no, not scratching. More like a scuff, and then a creak of straining wood. Harry craned his aching neck as much as he could, too curious to be afraid, and with a final shriek of nails ripped from the wall the boards were gone. In their place was a vision in blue, letting himself in through the sharp edges of broken planks as easily as he’d come in through Harry’s balcony all those months ago.

“Louis?” Harry whispered, barely daring to believe his eyes. Perhaps he was still asleep, dreaming of the rescue that he was so certain would come. But no, he wasn’t sleeping. He was awake, and his hands were still bound, and Freefall was slipping into building without making a sound.

“Hey, baby,” Freefall said, crouching down next to Harry’s chair. His brow creased as he looked Harry over, checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“Just sore,” Harry said, though even his muscles seemed to relax at the sight of his boyfriend. “How did you find me?”

Freefall laughed quietly, already testing the strength of the rings around Harry’s extremities. “They didn’t cover their tracks well at all. It was like they wanted me to find you.”

Cold terror washed over Harry then, like someone pouring ice water over his head. “They did. It’s a trap, Lou, you have to get out of here. Now,” Harry urged, ignoring the pain in his neck as he glanced around the room.

“Hey, hey,” Freefall said soothingly, placing his palms on Harry’s thighs. “I need you to stay calm, all right? For me, and for the baby.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Harry’s stomach.

Harry drew in a deep, shaky breath, held it, and blew it out through his lips. Calm. He could do calm. He closed his eyes and repeated the steps, counting on the inhale and exhale and focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the reassuring weight of Freefall’s hands.

Feeling much better, Harry opened his eyes and braved a smile, feeling a sense of peace now that his ordeal was nearly over. The sight that was waiting for him quickly stamped out his happy ending: Jesy, standing behind Freefall, with a blunt object raised high over her head. Harry didn’t have time to do much more than gasp before she struck, and Freefall crumpled at his feet.

“Got him!” Jesy called, and the room was flooded with light as the other three women came running. They worked quickly, hauling Louis up into another chair as Jade secured him with her rings: two around his wrists and ankles, and a third around his chest to keep him from moving.

“Let him go,” Harry begged, unable to look away from the sight of Freefall’s limp body, head lolling to the side and only the rings to keep him upright. “Please, I’ll do anything, just let him go.”

“Sorry, love, but he’s the one we want,” Perrie said, patting Harry’s cheek consolingly and sneering when he jerked away from her touch. “Don’t worry, once we’ve taken care of him you’ll be free to go.”

“The others will come,” Harry insisted, feigning bravery that he didn’t feel. “They’re probably here now, and they’re going to be pissed when they see what you’ve done.”

Leigh-Anne laughed. “So let them come,” she said, taking the crowbar that Jesy had hit Freefall with and hefting it in her hands. “We’ll be waiting.” She nodded at the door with her head, and Little Mix left the couple tied up and alone.

“Louis?” Harry tried, wishing he could scoot closer, could check Louis’ head for bleeding. “Louis, please wake up.” He struggled with his restraints, the energy humming as he strained against the rings. “Please, please be okay.”

Nothing. Freefall was still and silent, only the shallow rise and fall of his chest to ease Harry’s fears. Louis was alive for now, at least, and Harry is going to damn well make sure he stays that way.

A commotion from the hallway caught Harry’s attention, and at first he was furious at the sound of raised voices and shouts of jubilation. How dare they celebrate this? How could they take any pride in what they had done? But then other voices joined the din, male voices, and Harry sat up straighter in his chair.

They weren’t celebrating. They were being attacked.

“They came,” Harry breathed, mostly to himself but hoping Louis could hear as well. He wished he could see what was going on, to cheer on One Direction during the fray, but when Makeshift came crashing through the wall Harry realised things might not be going as he hoped. The rest of the battle followed, Captain Kinetic and Remix forced through the hole their comrade had just created as they backed away from Little Mix’s attacks. It was four against three, with Freefall out, and the lads were struggling to make up for his absence.

Harry watched in horror as they took blow after blow. Makeshift no sooner struggled to his feet than a swirling cloud of smoke knocked him back over. Remix had called on Rajah, the tiger prowling around and swiping at Echo, but every blow it landed only made her stronger and soon the tiger was disappearing in a burst of ink. Only Captain Kinetic seemed to be holding his own, his powers making quick work of Halo’s rings—until Whisper started shrieking mere metres away from him, causing his hands to fly to his ears and Halo’s next attack to hit him squarely in the chest.

They were going to lose.

Harry turned to look at Freefall still unconscious in the chair, totally unaware of the chaos erupting around them. He would have looked peaceful if not for the unnatural way he hung from the chair, body giving in to the very gravity he usually controlled.

“Louis,” Harry tried, his voice nearly lost amid the shouts and crashes of the fight around them. “Louis, please wake up. Please.”

There was a shriek, a groan of pain, a woman’s laugh.

“Louis, One Direction needs you. They need Freefall.”

Captain Kinetic swore loudly. Something glass shattered. Remix hit the wall and didn’t get up.

This was it. The other boys were going to be picked off one by one, and then it would be too late. No one else was coming to the rescue. Harry was going to have to raise this baby on his own, telling it stories of the man its father was. About how he was a hero. That is, if Little Mix kept their promise to let him go.

No. _No._ Harry couldn’t allow that to happen. He deserved to live. So did Louis. Their baby certainly deserved to grow up with both parents, and no one, _no one_ was going to take that away. Harry sat up straight, lifted his chin, and spoke with a stronger voice than he thought he could manage.

“Louis, I need you.”

It was a long shot, the kind that would have worked in a film, but this was real life and Louis remained silent and still. Harry couldn’t keep up the bravado any longer. He was useless and helpless, unable to help Louis or One Direction or himself. He couldn’t even help his own child.

“Your son needs you,” he whispered, letting the tears fall from his eyes. He closed them tight and hung his head, finally giving up hope that all of them would make it out of this. It was over.

There was a groan, a sharp crack, and Harry’s eyes flew open at how close the sound had been. He hadn’t even thought he might get caught in the middle of the battle, but it suddenly seemed more and more likely.

Except no one was near him. Captain Kinetic was backed into a corner, unable to create any of his own energy and having to rely on rebounding Halo’s rings. Makeshift had transformed his ears into some kind of headphones, but Whisper was still able to blast him with soundwaves strong enough to pin him behind an overturned desk. Somehow Remix had managed to get to his feet and had what seemed to be an army of living tattoos surrounding him, but Echo and Mist were picking them off as quickly as he could conjure them.

So where had the sound come from? There was only one other person in the room, and surely…

Harry turned his head to look at Freefall. His eyes were open now, an electric shade of blue, and he was sitting up on his own. His teeth were bared as he strained against the rings, and— _there_ , another crack. He was breaking them.

“Come on. You can do it!” Harry urged quietly, not wanting Little Mix to notice what was happening. He watched with renewed hope as Freefall snapped the rings one by one as if they were a mere inconvenience. Soon he was free, and on his feet, and it was as if everything else in the room went still. There was no noise, no movement, like the world had narrowed down to the sight of Louis on his feet when Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever see him conscious again.

“Shit, he’s loose!” Mist yelled. All four women abandoned their prey and headed toward Freefall in a pack. It didn’t do them a bit of good when, without warning, they were flattened against the ceiling.

“Yeah!” Captain Kinetic shouted, freeing himself from the corner. And heading straight for Harry. “Yeah, that’s it!”

Freefall didn’t speak, barely moved, and with a downward twitch of his eyes Little Mix fell heavily to the ground, held there by a gravity far stronger than they could fight. Harry had never seen Freefall control it like this before, to focus his attention on multiple people and keep his hold for so long. It was as if something inside him had been freed, and he was putting it to good use.

“Let us go,” Whisper begged, not even able to struggle against the force. “Please.”

Freefall stepped closer to the group, close enough to look down at them with cold eyes. “You put my family in danger,” he said, his voice a passionless monotone.

Echo looked panicked, her blue eyes wide as she tried desperately to move. “We weren’t going to hurt him,” she insisted. “We only wanted you!”

“You put my _son_ in danger,” Freefall snarled, taking a menacing step closer. The girls couldn’t even move to flinch.

“Please don’t hurt us,” Jade cried, looking so small and frightened.

Freefall was entirely unaffected. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s not their fault.”

Every eye in the room was on Harry, now free thanks to Captain Kinetic. He stood up, taking a shaky step closer to Freefall.

“Harry?” Makeshift said, studying Harry curiously. “What are you saying, mate?”

Another careful step. “It isn’t their fault. They’re being controlled.”

Freefall looked from Harry back down to the prone figures on the floor. “By who?” he asked dubiously.

“Syco,” Mist said, looking just as bewildered as everyone else by Harry’s interjection. “He threatened us, our families, unless we get enough money to buy our freedom.”

“Is that what they told you?” Freefall asked, turning to Harry. Harry nodded. “And you believe them?”

“I do,” Harry said, catching Jade’s eye. “And I think we can help them.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Remix demanded furiously. “They kidnapped you and you want to help them?”

“It’s not like Syco wasn’t already on our radar,” Makeshift pointed out. “We had a hunch he was behind the sudden spike in criminal activity.”

Freefall looked thoughtful. “We didn’t expect it to be like this, though.” He eyed the girls for a moment, and it felt like the room sighing when the gravity within returned to normal.

Little Mix stood slowly, helping each other to their feet without taking their eyes off of Freefall. “Why are you helping us?” Echo asked.

Freefall turned to meet Harry’s eyes. “Because Harry believes you, and I believe him.” He looked each woman in the eye one by one. “If we help you, this ends, right? You go back to your normal lives and we never hear from you again.”

“Harry knows our names,” Halo offered. “He’s seen all of us. If we’re lying, you’ll have the upper hand.”

Freefall looked around the room, taking in each of his colleagues. “Well, lads? What do you say we clean ourselves up and go take down Syco once and for all?”

“I’m in,” Makeshift said instantly. There was a scrape on his cheek, but he seemed unharmed otherwise.

“Me too,” Captain Kinetic said, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He had a cut through one eyebrow that would probably scar, blood staining the blond fringe hanging over it. “If Harry trusts them it’s good enough for me.”

Remix look at them with a scowl, a cut across the bridge of his nose still dripping. “You’re all mental,” he said, but followed it with a smile. “But yeah, okay. When do we start?’

“We’ll tell you everything we know,” Halo promised. “Anything we can do to help. We want this to be over.” The others chimed in their agreement.

Freefall nodded at them before turning to look at Harry. In an instant it was like his persona dropped and he was Louis again, looking like a scared boy playing dress-up in a fancy costume. He opened his arms and Harry was in them in an instant, pressing as close as he could and breathing in the familiar smell of his boyfriend beneath the protective fabric. Louis squeezed back tightly, his face tucked into the juncture of Harry’s shoulder and neck.

“Then it’s over,” Louis whispered, and Harry didn’t think he was talking to Halo.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

It was the biggest headline of the year: _One Direction Join Forces with Little Mix to Defeat Supervillain._ The _Morning Star_ got the scoop, of course, along with a smaller story allowing the girls to explain themselves once and for all. Syco, otherwise known as Simon Cowell, was safely behind bars and awaiting trial.

It was the last major story Harry wrote before the baby came—a little early like he was impatient to see what all the ruckus was about. He was healthy and perfect, even though he had no hair and Niall said he looked a bit like an alien. London was safe, for now, and when Harry returned to work (not for the _Morning Star;_ he had his choice of papers to work for now, and with far kinder editors) after his paternity leave, he had to find something new to fill the pages.

 

_✷ ✷ ✷_

 

“Then what happened?”

The house was quiet and nearly asleep, the soft voices drifting down the hallway.

“With the villains defeated, London was safe and all the heroes could retire.”

A cup of tea in each hand, Harry crept down the hallway and paused outside the second door on the right.

“But superheroes aren’t real, are they Dad?”

Harry leaned against the door frame, peering inside at the two greatest loves of his life. Louis sat on the edge of the bed, smiling down at a matching pair of big, blue eyes.

“They’re real. They’re just waiting to be needed,” Louis said. He glanced up, catching sight of Harry, and the two shared a smile before Harry moved on to the bedroom down the hall.

They would tell him someday, when he was old enough, the truth about how his daddies met. They would tell him about Freefall and who One Direction really was, about the three uncles who doted on him from the day he was born.

Harry set Louis’ mug down on the bedside table and crawled under the duvet with his own. He knew that just beyond the closet door, carefully tucked into a box, a blue and silver suit was waiting. It had been five years since Simon Cowell had been captured, and with him gone all the villains he was controlling fell off the radar. One day, though, someone else would come, wanting money or power that didn’t belong to them, and One Direction would be waiting. Until then, they would live on in bedtime stories, told in turns by the two people most qualified for the job.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know with comments and kudos. I have a post for this fic on my [tumblr](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/165116958251/title-something-just-like-this-author). Come and say hello!
> 
> Curlyfries, thanks for the lovely prompt and I hope I was able to do it justice!!


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